


Murder at the Manor

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Christmas, M/M, Murder Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: It's close to Christmas time and, because of the weather, Merlin Emrys' car stalls in a ditch. Fortunately, he is rescued by one Arthur Pendragon, who gives him a lift and offers to share his accomodation. Forced to put up at the Cornwalls' manor house for a night, Merlin is determined to make the best of his mishap. But the owner of the house never materialises, and his hostess acts oddly indeed. When a death takes place, Merlin starts getting suspicious.





	1. Chapter 1

At the wheel Merlin Emrys hummed to himself, a custom of his that wasn't dependent on circumstances rather than on force of habit. It was as good an idea as any, as good a last resort as any, because the situation he was in wasn't of the rosiest. Most people would have rather cursed, or become despondent, or bewailed their lot, but not Merlin. He was of the opinion that life was rather to be smiled at than frowned upon. Better yet, it helped to have a positive outlook rather than a pessimistic one. His bosses, however, liked to indulge in destructive ideas. “So close to Christmas,” they told him. “You'll never make it to any of your stops. Not in North Yorkshire and in this weather.” 

Merlin had considered waiting the storm out but he wasn't in a position to, not when his sales weren't something to write home about, and when his mother needed all the money he could spare. She never said she needed it, but so she did. While she had no debts anymore, she could scarcely afford anything nice for herself, and with dad gone in the war she had no one to turn to. He told himself that his numbers were so low because people were still on rations and had precious little money to spend on anything other than food. But that didn't mean he shouldn't work hard in order to improve his track record. So he was running around the country in a battered small car, the age and inadequacies of which were the downfall of all mechanics he drove his stuttering car to.

For his part Merlin failed to see what was wrong with his poor vehicle other than the obvious. In his opinion all cars were made to eventually break down, so he'd rather not save to buy a new one that would go bust like any other. He'd rather use his savings for his family. Besides, he knew his old Austin Dragon better than any other four-wheeled vehicle and he'd rather entrust his life to it than to some other contraption. The old Austin Dragon might throw a tantrum or two, the more so since he was on the road so much, but it always got him back home safe and sound. 

How many adventures he had to tell. It was quite the connection he and his car had. They'd been through thick and thin and all over the United Kingdom too. It was true the Old Dragon was temperamental, almost like it had a personality of his own, but it was otherwise reliable. At least in most circumstances. Fifty per cent of them. Well, maybe a good thirty was closer to the truth. Either way parting with it sounded like a nightmare to Merlin.

So, with a huge dose of confidence in the Dragon, Merlin hit the road that from Richmond went to Ripon, in Yorkshire. Having registered quite a few sales, he had had a busy and fruitful morning, after which he'd had a filling lunch in Skipton, that was followed by a visit to a prospective customer in Malton. He'd been invited to take up lodgings for the night there. But then he had realised that by cracking on that same day, he could probably get to his next destination before the day was over. In the morning he could start fresh while already in place. Both his customer and the bloke at the service station had advised against this course of action. 

Winter had struck Yorkshire with nearly unprecedented vigour that year, bringing with it the threat of blocked roads and hamlets cut off from their neighbours. A heavy fall of snow carpeted most areas, painting the hills a blinding white and rendering the smaller tracks impassable. “You'd be a fool to try, sir. These are staying at home days, sir.” But inclement weather was no obstacle to Merlin. He had been adamant, not to be moved and all that. All in all, he was warm in his scarf and pea-coat, his car had been serviced just the other day and Christmas was approaching. What better season to travel through the magnificence of the remotest parts of Yorkshire, and the impressive beauty of the dale country he was traversing?

Towards late afternoon he was obliged to concede. Both mechanic and customer had been right. He'd have been much better off in the parlour of some inn or other. As it was, the roads were not only bad, they were nearly impassable. His car, which could be trusted to do forty miles per hour on a regular basis, was slowing down, the engine sputtering ominously once he reached a fraction of that speed. Uphill paths were indeed even more of a challenge. His feet couldn't handle the pedals properly either because, woollen socks notwithstanding, they were half frozen. Still, he told himself he could make it. He only had to drive on until he found lodgings for the night. After all, the scenery itself was worth the effort.

Tall, snow-covered spruce lined the road on either side, giving way to whitened shrub land and heather-clad moors. Hills fringed the vista with farmhouses rising in between them. Beyond them mountains rose bleak and craggy, their sternness daunting. It was all worthy of a painting. At least if he could paint Merlin would replicate the scenery on canvas. It was all very Weathering Heights.

As the hours passed, the sky had closed up considerably, thick clouds forming in banks over reams of mist. Merlin's visuals narrowed to his immediate vicinity whilst everything else disappeared from view. As night descended, he drove blindly, following tracks that were not only quite alien to him but also utterly remote. The path just climbed and climbed but didn't seem to go anywhere.

“Perhaps at the end of this there'll be a farm,” Merlin said to himself. “Maybe they'll set me straight for the next town.” Maybe they'd put him up. Farmers wouldn't have particularly commodious lodgings to give him, especially with no forewarning of a guest, but it wasn't as though Merlin hadn't been born in a small flat in a small town down in the South of England. Far from him the luxuries of the big cities or even of sizeable dwellings. He and his mum used to have a small bedroom each, a bathroom so tiny a child would have had trouble using it, and a front parlour that was equally Lilliputian. He would understand and re-adapt quickly enough. 

A plan formed. He would stop at the next hamlet, have tea and sandwiches, and, if it turned out that the road was impassable, he'd stop where he was. 

As for now, his headlights were doing an excellent job at illuminating the road ahead, which was good news, as it would allow him to push on in all safety. All in all his poor Dragon was doing its utmost. “Come on, old crank, just a little while longer.”

He'd have done better not to have spoken at all. The path suddenly narrowed and twisted, going steeper. To counter the incline, he changed gear, decreasing it, and the Dragon took to stuttering uphill, its headlights shining on glimmering snow. From the entrails of the car came coughing noises. Merlin hoped they would soon die down. “Come on, we're almost at the top.” 

With his choice to continue he hoped he hadn't dealt the Dragon a death blow.

With a hiss the car came to the highest pass and then started rolling downhill, acquiring quite a lot of speed. Two lanes forked from the path he was taking, each going in the opposite direction. Since there were no signs, Merlin hadn't the foggiest where to turn. He squinted and peered, blinked and goggled, but for all his looking he could discern no clue as to where to go. Both pathways seemed identical, both were nothing more than tiny ill-beaten tracks, and both lost themselves in darkness. He could stop, take a breather, and read his map, but he wasn't sure the car would start again once he let it idle. 

So he did the only thing he could given his options. He let chance decide. He went left. The Dragon proved unwilling to steer right after all. So Merlin let it do what it willed. Before long he found that this might not have been the brightest of ideas, for this road was even worse than the the one he had left behind. It was darker, more winding, and it went up and down like a roller-coaster. The potholes were many and loose gravel wore the tyres thin. He could most definitely hear the most unsettling noises.

As if that were not enough, snow piled on the car's bonnet and on the windscreen. The wipers were working double time, but still Merlin could see less and less. Ominously, the car groaned and swayed at every little turn. He squinted to see what lurked in the distance but could make out nothing. If it went on this way, he wouldn't find any place for the night. 

Surprised by doubt, wondering whether he could drive back to civilisation, Merlin braked. If he took the other road, the one that stretched westwards, he could maybe reach some little village of other. A small house or even a shack would be enough. He could ask for help there. The other track couldn't be lonelier than the one he was on. 

With a lot of elbow grease, he managed to reverse. But after that the car was no longer the same. It chugged like a train, smoke issued from the bonnet and it started going backwards up an incline in instead of forwards. Though Merlin accelerated and changed gear, trying every trick in the book, the Dragon slowly slid into a snow bank piled at the side of the road. With a burp and some hissing sounds, the engine stilled. As the wind howled as though in preparation for Armageddon, the battered car stalled completely. 

“Right,” Merlin said, “it's no big deal.” He tried the self-starter numerous times, but the engine didn't chirp back to life. “Oh crap.” Merlin couldn't believe how unlucky he was being. “I must do something.”

That or freeze.

Donning gloves and securing his scarf around his neck, Merlin exited the car. Snow sucked him in, till he was mired to the calves in it. “Better and better.” 

Getting unstuck, shaking icicles off his shoes, he circled the car, trying to find a way he could move the Austin from its present perch. He shone his torch on the vehicle. It lay tilted on land that sloped sharply on one side. Behind the spot his car had stopped at only darkness lay. As he stomped round it, snow fell slowly in big flakes that caressed the skin and iced the body. Merlin wrapped his coat around him and tucked his nose into his scarf. It made little difference, but at least he wouldn't get frostbite. Could you even get frostbite out in the country? Probably, he reckoned.

Resigned to a night out in the cold, he trudged back to the car, sitting in the front seat. Humming under his breath, he hugged himself, rubbing his arms to produce heat. When he was a little bit hotter, he opened the glove box, and took out the purchases he had made at the last service station. It wasn't much. Just a ham sandwich and a pear, which together with a bar of chocolate and the bottle or rum he'd stashed by for emergencies would make up his dinner. 

If he wasn't going to consume alcohol now with his car in a ditch at sub zero temperatures he didn't know when he should get to it. While holding onto the sandwich, he uncorked the bottle with his teeth and drank a pull. The alcohol warmed him some more. It was quick-hitting and a god send. It was like being rescued by a big Saint Bernard dog with a flask. Minus the massive shaggy animal, of course. He praised himself for having enough foresight as to have bought a bottle. 

Once he'd eaten his sandwich, he took a look around. The road was deserted. Snow was blowing southwards and covering the car in piles of ice. In a while he would become unable to open the car door. Visibility was going down too. 

“What to do?” Merlin tapped his fingers on his steering wheel. As he saw it, he had roundabouts two choices. He could take his suitcase, leave the car behind, and trudge all the way to the nearest service station. Someone would then point him out to the nearest household and surely nobody would leave him to fend off in the cold. Or he could wait.

He'd almost convinced himself that going in search of help was a good idea when a whirlwind of snow hit the car, and half buried it under. If he tried walking, he wouldn't make it. It was too dark and too cold for him to be able to. He would go adrift and get lost and in these temperatures it wasn't a good idea. He didn't want his corpse to be discovered in the morning by some chance driver. 

Better stay put and wait it out. If the weather improved, he might try marching to the nearest village. If it didn't, he could finish his food and wait relatively comfortably where he was. After all his nose was no longer an icicle and his feet were getting to feel somewhat less like ice slabs. 

He was sure that if he finished the chocolate, he would feel like a different person, more alive and warmer. Then he could decide. As he finished snacking, he watched snowflakes drop down from the sky in little clusters that became thicker and thicker the more time passed. If he concentrated, he could even spot shapes. Watching made him sleepy, so he closed his eyes and let himself nap a little. 

He must have been dozing for quite a while, because he was getting pains in his neck and lower body, when the sound of an engine came roaring closer. Turning, Merlin caught a glimpse of the car's headlights fending their way through the darkness. When it passed the bend, he saw a black Talbot Lago streak closer.

“I don't believe it.” Merlin blinked. He'd resigned himself so staunchly to spending the night in his Austin, he couldn't quite trust his luck. 

The Talbot slowly climbed uphill until it threw light on Merlin's Dragon. It nearly drove past, but before it could, it pulled up. The window came down and a head stuck out. The man driving it was young, blond and square-jawed. He would have looked handsome if his face hadn't been pinched with cold, with a preternaturally red nose. “Hi there,” the man said, “Do you need any help?”

This was really a stroke of luck. This road was so deserted, no one had seemed likely to pass by and yet, here someone was. In a fit of enthusiasm, Merlin got out of the car, stomping up to the other one in the snow. “Oh, yes, I do,” Merlin said. “My car got stuck. I was wondering if you could help me dig it out.”

“I'm ordinarily fantastic at manual labour,” the man said, killing the engine and exiting the car. “I've had to do a lot of that today since I got stuck myself a few hours ago.” 

After he'd got out, the man slammed the car door shut and walked over to Merlin. As soon as the wind hit him, he shrunk, though. When Merlin noticed, he widened his stance again. Merlin would have told him it was totally unnecessary, but he kept his mouth shut. The man was wearing a thick enough coat: he could brave the weather if he was dead set upon showing off. Let the bloke parade, if he so wanted.

When the man saw how deep Merlin's car was buried in snow, he said, “Wow, that's quite a predicament. Where were you going when you got stranded?” 

“Ripon. I thought I could get there before dinner. Well, before this all happened.” He gestured at his car. He wasn't so stupid as to think he could even remotely make it after that. “But at this point I'm completely lost. I don't even know where I am anymore...”

“I can tell you that you're on the wrong road.”

Merlin tilted his head. “How do you know that?”

“I know the area quite well,” the man said with a nice, polite smile that showed a row of teeth that were even but for a slightly crooked one. “You should have turned right a few miles back. That road would have set you on a path towards the motorway. This way you're getting deep into the countryside.”

“I see.” This was worse than Merlin had previously thought. “Do you know of any village in the vicinity?”

The man hummed loudly. “Let's see, well, maybe. But they're all a long way away.”

Merlin's shoulders collapsed. “Can't you help me move the Old Dragon, er, the Austin?”

The man looked past Merlin's shoulders and at the car. “To be entirely honest there's nothing I can do right now. It's too dark and I would need tow cables or at least a rope to shift it out of that snow bank.”

“Oh.” Merlin would have to sleep in his car after all. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't have shifted the car alone. No matter how much determination he put into it.

“Come morning I will gladly help you.” He stepped towards the car.

“I see.” Freezing was Merlin's destiny.

The man walked around Merlin's car. “You were lucky, you know.”

Merlin couldn't see how he was. “Mmm.”

“Your car stopped right on the verge of oblivion.”

Merlin blinked. “What?”

“It's sitting right on top of the Camlann ravine.” The man stumbled around in the snow, trying to get back to him. “A few inches and you would have been done for.”

Merlin learned to appreciate the prospect of freezing, especially when compared to that. Slow deaths were always better.

“The drop is quite substantial,” the man went on. It seemed the subject was animating him. “Legend has it some Northumbrian king or other died in it.”

“Lucky I didn't then.” Merlin would consider that an early Christmas gift. 

“Thankfully you didn't end up like that king,” the man said, looking into the darkness. 

“So there's no sitting in the car till morning, is there?” With a gust of wind the car could push over into the gulley. There went his plans for shelter.

“Not unless you wish for an untimely end.” The man rubbed his hands together, probably to work some warmth back into them. “Look, as I see it, you can't stay here. I'll give you a lift.”

In other circumstances Merlin wouldn't have wanted to put the gentleman out. But faced with a night spent abroad in a blizzard, he thought he had little choice. “Thank you. I'll accept.”

The men put a wedge against the wheels of Merlin's Austin, so that it wouldn't roll into the ravine, then said, “Have you anything to take?”

Merlin tramped towards the boot. “My suitcase and sample case.”

“Sample case?” the man asked.

“I'm a commercial traveller,” Merlin said, as he lifted both items from the boot. “It comes with the job.” 

The man went to his car, sitting behind the wheel, while Merlin stashed his things in the back of it. Then he climbed in next to the man, shaking the snow from his coat and hair. “You can drop me anywhere I can get a room for the night,” Merlin said, dreaming of a cosy B&B, but ready to make do with whatever situation chance threw at him. “I'll take it from there.”

“There's no hotel on this road,” the man said as he drove forwards. “By driving on this way you can reach Ripon, but this road gets dangerous further on. It gets to Valley of the Fallen Kings, a system of gulleys certainly not to be attempted in this weather.”

“Then what are we driving towards?” Merlin was growing concerned here. He'd already had a mishap; he didn't want to incur an accident. 

“I'm going to my uncle's. He lives at Tintagel Manor,” the man said, steering carefully. The road was so dark and slippery it was just as well. Crashing their car would be tragic. “It's not far actually. You get to it way before you reach the valley. Why don't you join me for the night? I'm sure my aunt and uncle will have you gladly.”

Merlin considered the option. It sounded like heaven and yet he didn't want to intrude on a family gathering, one that took place right before the holidays at that. It was bound to be intimate, and he was likely to overstep boundaries. Clearly the gentleman was only asking because he thought he must out of politeness and given the out of the ordinary predicament Merlin was in he probably felt he could do nothing else than offer shelter for the night. “I don't know, really. That's not what I'd planned. Besides, I'd rather not inconvenience you.”

“I don't think you'd be doing any of that,” the man said. “Before driving over I got a letter from my uncle. Apparently he wants me to bring a friend along. I have no idea why he wants me to do that. He probably thinks I'm boring. Or that I'd get bored myself holed up at the manor with no one my age for company. Either way that's the gist of his message. Bring some nice fellow along. At first I worried over it, you know.” He slowed down, when he came upon an icy patch of road. “I have no one in tow and was already transgressing his order, but if I bring you round, it's going to be alright, isn't it? I'm doing exactly as he asked.”

“Still, it's your family,” Merlin said. “They probably meant you should bring someone close to you.”

“I don't think so. There was no note that said so.” The man drove the car along a tiny bridge. As if he'd guessed the nature of Merlin's second thoughts, he added, “I haven't seen this side of my family for years. It's not going to be that intimate.” He laughed to himself. “I don't even know my aunt.”

“You don't know your aunt?” Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“Through no fault of my own.” For a second or so the man glanced at Merlin rather than the road. “My uncle's only married her recently. I was abroad for a while. Working on the continent. Seldom made it home and when I did I only visited my father. I just had no opportunity to meet her.”

“Europe?” Merlin thought the man's tone, open and easy, invited speculation, questions. “What do you do?”

“My family owns property there.” The man accelerated but the car, though a new model, barely sped up. The weather was just that bad. “Restaurants and hotels. A printing house. I help oversee matters.”

“Sounds fun.” It also sounded like something rich chaps did. Which explained the large new car. Merlin suddenly felt out of place.

“So are you coming along?” the man asked. “I swear the house is supposed to be beautiful and so are the grounds and country.”

“I still don't know.” Merlin wasn't sure of his welcome.

“I think you must.” The man braked. “You also ought to come to France when you have some free time. I'll find you just the perfect place.”

Merlin reddened. “Well, that's...”

“Forward, isn't it?” The man turned his head a notch and smiled at him. “I didn't mean to be. It's just that there's something about you.”

Merlin shook his head. “Actually I'm grateful. You gave me a hand. You invited me to a fine spot. I feel biased in your favour.”

“That's as it should be.” The road grew larger and straighter, so the man's posture at the wheel eased. “We met in exceptional circumstances. You should always be friendly to people you meet in such straits.”

“I'm very friendly.” Merlin let his eyes go small with laughter.

“I'll have to be honest.” The man licked his lips. “I generally don't manhandle people into friendship.”

“I'm just that special to generate such a response then?”

The man laughed. “I wouldn't go as far as to say that.” He shook his head.

“So I'm run of the mill.”

“No.” The man's laughter dried. “I would never say that either.”

The road got worse again, narrowing abruptly and getting steeper and steeper. The car, though, seemed equal to the task. Merlin's Austin wouldn't have made it, but the Talbot was managing quite nicely. Even so, that seemed to require all of the driver's attention. Merlin understood. Prudence was more important than small talk.

As they drove on, they found the weather worsened. The wind rose to a gale and rocked the car from side to side. The man was still careful as he steered along, but he didn't seem otherwise worried. He oozed confidence, sitting back with a relaxed stance, hands loose on the wheel, as if he was sure they would make it. Merlin sincerely hoped they wouldn't end up dead in a ditch. 

“So what do you sell while you travel round the country?” the man asked.

“Medicines,” Merlin said, “like ointments, oils, salves for rheumatism, aches and pains. My uncle is a chemist and he produces all these items. I sell them for him.” 

“May I have heard of your uncle's firm?”

“I don't know.” They had publicised themselves a lot lately, with placards at bus stops and ads in the papers, at least the regional ones. But the man had said he'd been abroad, so it was unlikely for him to have heard about them. “Ever heard of Gaius Charles? He's the one who patented all our products.”

“Can't say that I have,” the man said.

“Well, he's every good.”

“I believe you.”

Silence grew between them, but it wasn't hostile. Merlin worked warmth in his arms while the other man drove carefully over ice patches, changing gear where needed. "By the way, my name is Pendragon,” he said. “Arthur Pendragon.”

“Merlin Emrys.” Merlin instinctively stuck his hand out. When he realised Arthur was driving, he put it down. 

“Emrys?” Arthur laughed. “Now that's a weird one.”

“It's Welsh in origin!” Merlin faked outrage. “You're good to talk, your surname isn't that common either.”

“It's Welsh too.” Arthur smiled at the windscreen. “I like the coincidence.”

“It's not much of a one,” Merlin said. There were heaps of people with the same origins as them. 

“Oh, let me have my way, will you.” Arthur decelerated. 

Merlin would have replied to that but his stomach gurgled, so he gave his watch a look. It was past eight and thus dinner time. Though he'd snacked in the car, he still was hungry. “Are we there yet?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, pointing ahead with his chin. “As a matter of fact we are.”

A high stone wall came into view. It was broken up by a set of grey iron gates, which stood open and gave access to a long driveway lined by trees and covered by mounds of pristinely white snow. Arthur drove his car along it, moving past thick clusters of trees and sets of frozen shrubs. 

“This place used to look better,” Arthur said, taking in the facade, which now appeared in the distance. It lacked a coat of paint or two and the outbuildings seemed to need some propping. “I remember it as being quite grand. But I suppose the upkeep isn't easy. And my uncle's no longer young. It's '47 so he must be over sixty by now.”

Arthur parked next to a van encumbering half the size of the eastern section of the driveway. He killed the engine, and, with Merlin in tow, climbed the stairs to the door. He rang the bell. So as to avoid the worst of the inclement weather, they waited in the shelter of the porch. Without the relative warmth the car provided, Merlin was again feeling all the brunt of the cold, the wind caressing his nape, freezing his nose, and numbing his fingers even from within the encasing of his gloves. He would kill for dinner and a fireside drink.

“Come inside, come inside,” the woman who opened said, “before it gets cold inside too.”

Arthur and Merlin packed themselves in after her. They found themselves in a large entrance hall on both sides of which a wooden staircase, which gave access to the gallery above, opened. The light of candles shone brightly from a console and was reflected in a mirror, but there were no electric lights that Merlin could detect.

Once the front door closed behind them, they followed their guide into a large, square-shaped parlour dominated by a marble chimney piece. When they were all inside it, she turned around. She was a thirty year old woman of medium height, with dark hair coiffed on top of her head in fashionable waves, a straight nose, and a gap-toothed smile. 

She must be the housekeeper, Merlin thought, or one of the maids, except she was wearing no uniform but a nice trouser suit with a frilly blouse that came with a bow at the neck. Her rings and necklaces, too, seemed rather ostentatious for a maid. Those pearls were as big as peas and looked like the genuine deal and so did the green stone that shone on her finger. Could it be a sapphire? Sometimes Merlin wished he knew more about precious stones that he did. As it was he was good at recommending medicaments and abysmal at everything else.

“Sorry for barging in unannounced,” Arthur said, stretching his hand out by way of introduction- “I'm Arthur, Mr Cornwall's nephew.” He gazed at Merlin. “And this is Merlin, a...” He winked. “A friend of mine.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.” The woman's face lit up in an over the top smile that lingered on as she shook Arthur's hand. “I'm your aunt, Helen.”

Arthur and Merlin exchanged looks of surprise.


	2. Chapter 2

Now that he noticed, Merlin found the room wasn't splendid, or at least not as grand as such a manor warranted. But it was warm, for the fire crackled steadily on, and all the windows were firmly closed against the storm. It was more than he should ask for at present. Another look told him that the space he was was in current use. There was a crumpled note on the tea table, and close to it lay pen and paper. Ink had been spilled and not mopped up yet. Which indicated they'd interrupted Helen in the midst of taking a note. She didn't seem put out though, or not too overtly, because she smiled a lot.

In fact, Helen stood closer to Arthur and kissed him on both cheeks.

Arthur accepted the welcome with a smile on his face and kissed her hand before she could release him. “It's a real pleasure to meet you, Aunt Helen. I'm actually very sorry I couldn't do so before.”

“Don't worry,” she said, slapping his chest and giggling to herself. “I know just how busy you are. Your uncle and I couldn't expect you to dash here whenever we wanted.”

“I've been remiss,” Arthur said, and his expression oozed sincere regret. “Family should come first.”

“Business is important,” Helen said. “We all understand.”

“My Father wants to see results, you see.” Arthur disarranged his hair with a swipe of his palm that went from his nape to the top of his skull. “So I'm always trotting here and there.”

“We understand.” Helen patted his arm. “We weren't even expecting you to come.”

Arthur looked hurt, but he did not say anything about that. “I hope that I'm not interrupting anything. You weren't having some kind of party, were you?”

“Oh no,” Helen said, biting her lip. “I haven't told you, have I?”

Arthur frowned deeply, lines accumulating upon his forehead, marring it. “What did you fail to tell me?”

Helen looked from Arthur to Merlin and showed some traces of hesitation. Merlin was about to say he could go into any other room so the two relatives could talk at ease, without a stranger present. But he apparently didn't need to. “I'm sorry, Arthur,” Helen said, “but your uncle is very ill. He surely wouldn't be able to entertain.”

“Oh, I see.” Arthur's shoulders bent under the pressure of the bad piece of news. “Is there anything I can--” When he saw Helen's impenetrable expression, he revised and said, “I'd love to be able to see him. It's been a while and, well, no occasion like the present.”

“We'll see.” Helen gave him a once over then she took in Merlin too. “But now's surely not the time. You look cold and tired. Why don't you take off your coat and warm yourselves by the fire over there.” She turned two armchairs around so that they lay closer to the fireplace. “I'll call the servants; they'll bring you some food. We're unprepared for guests but that doesn't mean you shouldn't get something.”

Before Merlin and Arthur could sit, she'd disappeared into another room. 

Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances. They both divested themselves of their sodden coats, which they draped over the back of their armchairs. That way they would hopefully dry so they could be worn again by morning. Merlin was still of a mind to start early the next day, so he could do his job and rake up his sales. Almost simultaneously they sat down.

As he grew warm, Merlin got in the mood for chatting. “Your aunt is very young and pretty.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, I was expecting her to be... rather different.”

“I suppose I would have too if I were in your shoes.” If Uncle Gaius had married as young a woman as Helen, Merlin would have been a little surprised. Not that love had to be constrained by any considerations. Where it flowered, then it should bloom. Merlin believed in it deeply. Still, when the age difference was so very marked one paused a little, if only for a few seconds. He was sure all the love in the world was behind such a union.

“I obviously find her very charming.” Arthur said that with a blush. “Not that I...” He scratched at his temple with the very tip of his finger. “Let's just say I understand my uncle's words better now.”

“I thought you hadn't seen him in a long time.”

“Oh he wrote.” Arthur gestured with his hands. “Father read me his letter. He said he'd found joy and love and that he's glad he never listened to the naysayers.”

“Such small places these Yorkshire villages.” Merlin inclined his head. “Maybe there was a lot of gossip.”

“Yes.” Arthur leant towards the fire. “I assume there was.”

As they thawed, Merlin watched the flames dance in the fireplace and listened to their crackle. Closing his eyes he took in the smell of the smoke and the warmth of the place, the sound of the logs wood splitting, and the howling of the wind as it blew whirlwinds of snow about. He hoped they wouldn't be snowed in tomorrow.

Helen come back. “I've warned Cedric we have guests. He'll bring some food for you.”

She was right, of course. A couple of minutes later a thin man pushing a trolley appeared. The trolley was laden with food and drinks. Merlin spied a tall bottle of French wine, around which cobwebs stuck, a fatter brandy bottle, and some canapés. They didn't look as though they had been carefully prepared. They were bread squares on which ham and olives had been placed. They'd been stabbed through with toothpicks. 

Though Merlin was hungry and tempted to eat he paused before doing so. He took a good look at the butler. At first he didn't know why he was doing so. He was tired and famished and ought to eat first. Any other consideration should come last. But there was something about him that was clamouring for his attention. The butler was a very tall man. His face was scarred. A thin line went from his mouth to his cheek and a deeper gouge stabbed the skin around his eye. He wore no uniform or livery. His trousers were made of corduroy and tucked into a pair of boots. His jumper was a brown woollen knit that had seen better days. His boots had soles encrusted with old mud. 

Cedric let go of the trolley so abruptly it bounced off its wheeled legs. When he looked up to ask what Merlin and Arthur wanted he did so with a scowl so deep it seemed etched in his features and when he served them he splashed wine all around. They were given no napkins.

Helen said, “Forgive Cedric, he's not exactly new at the job, but he wasn't originally a butler.” She scoffed. “Not a born one certainly.”

Merlin wanted to point out that no one was, but he kept his mouth shut. Though instinctively he couldn't say he liked Cedric, he wasn't one to openly criticise workers. He tended rather to side with them against the landed gentry. After all, those in service toiled all day and the rich, who were served by them, did nothing but sit on their bums all day. 

Not picking up on Merlin's preferences, Helen seemed of a mind to continue on her diatribe. “Unfortunately we're so deep in the country no one wants to work for us. There are no incentives. On their afternoon off our servants can't go have fun in town, not if they want to be in time for their shifts. So they turn our job offers down in favour of those closer to Ripon.”

“We understand, aunt,” Arthur said, taking a sip of his wine.

“There are no perks to living in these dreadful wilds.” Helen's mouth tilted half heartedly to one side. “I of course--” she pressed her hand to her chest. “--did so out of love. But believe me when I say nobody else would be tempted.”

“You must love my uncle dearly.” Arthur's eyes went soft and filled with understanding. He nodded to himself as though pleased. 

“I do,” Helen said. “The dear. I don't understand his love for Yorkshire. We could live in London and only come here for the shooting season.” Her mouth hardened a little. “But he says we can't afford it and that this is our ancestral home.” She gave a little shrug with her shoulders. “Would you like any more drinks?”

Merlin said no. He was a lightweight. His uncle Gaius always told him so. Two glasses and he was three sheets to the wind. He remembered so many unpleasant experiences dealing with alcohol that he didn't want to tempt fortune. Arthur evidently was made of sterner stuff because he went for the brandy bottle. 

With a glass in hand he sauntered over to the mantle. “Is there any chance of Uncle Gorlois joining us for dinner?”

Helen served herself some brandy too. She drank it plain and almost all in one gulp. “I'm afraid not, my dear. I haven't told you so far so as not to worry you but he's to all intents and purposes bed-ridden.” 

“What's exactly wrong with him?” Arthur's grip on his glass tightened. 

“A bout of pneumonia,” Helen said, shaking her head. She pressed her tightly held glass to her temple. “It's all this place's fault. But he wouldn't listen. He wanted to stay. Ah if we'd travelled to the Riviera as I'd suggested. But he didn't want to budge. As things stand, the doctor recommended a hospital stay but Gorlois was against it. He's too afraid of hospitals.” She sighed and it shook her whole frame. “To be honest I don't trust them either. So cold and inhospitable. I trust he's better off at home than there. Even the doctor said I was an excellent nurse, really exceptional.”

“Pneumonia,” Arthur said, biting his lip. “That's worse than I thought it would be.”

“I know.” Helen's voice was plaintive. “But a few weeks ago he looked so strong, so fine.” She released a heavy breath. “And now...”

“Has he any professional staff to look after him?” Arthur stopped drinking and directed his gaze at his aunt. 

“Oh, no, we feel that a stranger wouldn't do any good.” Helen balled her free fist on the armrests. “They couldn't give him the proper care and attention the way I do.”

Arthur nodded attentively. “Are you sure that isn't putting too big of a strain on you?”

“I've got help,” Helen said, nursing her drink, pressing the glass against her cheek as though she was suffering under the onslaught of a fever. “My husband has a valet. His name's William. He's from a village called Daira. Has always served my husband. He's very loyal, very faithful. He sits by Gorlois when I can't. We take it in turns to. Most of my nights are spent awake at his bedside these days, you know.” 

Merlin was impressed. In spite of her sleepless nights, Helen looked as healthy and beautiful as though she were a pampered princess. Her colour was high as if she took regular walks. And her skin was unlined, with no bags under they eyes, no trace of greyness or puffiness. Her toilet too was of the kind that took hours to attend to. Her curls alone would have taken a long while to both shape and arrange. Merlin remembered when his mum had looked after uncle Gaius that time he was ill. Her 'do' hadn't been quite so perfect. Her hair had flown about everywhere. Yet Merlin also understood Helen's wish to look as normal as possible in the face of misfortune. That surely would help keep her husband's spirits up. 

“That must be tiring,” Arthur said, with real concern in his voice. “If you want to I can sit up with him tonight.”

“Absolutely out of the question!” Helen nearly startled out of her armchair. When she noticed with how much surprise both Merlin and Arthur were regarding her, she eased back down and gave them a feeble smile. “Your uncle's used to me. He wouldn't want to be in the company of strangers in his weakened state. You must understand his pride.”

“I completely understand.” Arthur inclined his head. It was a sombre move, barely there. “I wouldn't want people to see me at my worst either.”

“It's a family trait, you see.” She laughed. It was a brittle, hollow sound as well it might be. She had to be very upset about her husband's condition. “Gorlois is exactly like you, a proud Cornwall.”

Arthur didn't say he was a Pendragon, didn't correct his aunt in any way. He toasted her and her devotion until Helen blushed. She poured herself another drink. This one she sipped more slowly. While Merlin was having a go at the water, Arthur said, “If I can't sit with him, I'd like to meet Uncle Gorlois tomorrow morning.”

“But of course,” said Helen after a brief pause. “That is if the doctor says he can. He recommended peace and quiet, no emotions. Unfortunately, seeing his beloved nephew might be too much for him. But we won't know until the doctor comes, will we?” She hummed to herself in an undertone. “He's promised to come and pay a call but I don't know if he will.”

“Is your doctor so callous as not to call on patients that need him so urgently?” Merlin's uncle Gaius had been a doctor before turning his hand at patenting medicaments. He'd always told Merlin that a doctor's first duty was towards the ill. This one didn't seem to live by that standard. 

Helen widened her eyes at him, then she pursed her lips. “Oh no it's not that,” she said at length. “He's just terribly busy and a little too old to trot around the countryside in this weather.”

“I should find you another doctor.” Arthur straightened, as if he'd readied an action plan he was ready to execute now.

“There won't be any need for any of that, dear Arthur.” Helen closed her eyes, lashes fluttering, and opened them slowly. “We'll see how my husband does tomorrow. I'm sure that, though company might be too much for him, there won't be any need to alert the doctor.” She paused looking to the both of them as if for confirmation. “Seriously, unless something changes, I wouldn't disturb him.”

Merlin and Arthur shared a look of incomprehension. 

Helen went on. “You mustn't worry too much about me. I'm equal to the task.” Before either of them could say anything, Helen spoke again. “While we were in the other kitchen, I gave Cedric orders to prepare your rooms.”

Helen took them to their rooms then. The stairs were mostly plunged in darkness and they creaked. They also twisted and turned, leading to passageways that doubled back on themselves, but that still managed to open up onto new corridors and rooms. Nothing was level. The floor inclined, there were steps in places. Sometimes you went up and sometimes you went down. “Watch your step,” Helen said as she shepherded them forwards. “The treads are old.”

Merlin could see that, but refrained from commenting. Refurbishments cost money and he could see how nowadays a family wouldn't want to sink a lot of money into them. A house like this must be a continual expense. 

“Some of the rooms are not open,” Helen said, walking ahead of them. “They're unserviceable.” 

“I'm sure our quarters will be nice.” Merlin knew how much he owed Helen Cornwall. Not everyone would put up a stranger for nothing. That way Merlin had been lucky. He could be spending the night outside right now. Which wouldn't exactly have been good news.

“I'll be giving you a very good room,” Helen said. “And Arthur too, of course.”

“I can make do.” Arthur tripped into an old carpet, but immediately recovered his footing. “Give Merlin the best room.”

Merlin smiled at Arthur. He had driven for hours too and must be as tired as Merlin felt. And yet he was ready to yield some of his creature comforts to make sure Merlin was at his ease. That was kind. That was something not everyone would have done. 

“Don't worry, nephew,” Helen said, shining a lantern she found on top a chest along the corridor. “I'll give you a nice room as well. This place may be old and a little dilapidated, but it still had fine rooms and abundant charm.”

Merlin could see no trace of this charm. Perhaps by daylight the house would look better. When there was more light to make all the creaking passageways appear less ominous, less dank. As it was it was like entering into a fairy tale castle. Or an Anne Radcliffe novel. You couldn't but wonder where the ogre was. He certainly did not say so, however. These people were welcoming him in their midst. 

Arthur too sounded a little sceptical when he said, “Yes, of course, aunt.”

They paused on the threshold of a large and lofty room. It had a window facing the park, a canopied four poster, a sofa, a desk, and a few chests. The curtains were made of heavy drapery, likely damask, but were frayed at the ends. Moonlight flooded in, cutting across beds and carpets.

“You'll find clean towels and a robe,” Helen said. “I'm afraid we have no spare pyjamas. The bath-rooms are just round the bend of the corridor. I fear we have no electric lights upstairs. The house was refitted but the entire power system is faulty so we don't use it for fear of fires.”

Merlin didn't want to end up like the madwoman in the attic. He's use the tapers. “If you need help, knock on Cedric's door. Or you can ask Alvarr. He's the footman. He'll be around. As I think I mentioned to you before, we have no maids.” 

Helen left to show Arthur his room. Alone, Merlin circled round his. He went to the window and watched the still countryside. Moonlight bathed the hills in the distance and the clusters of trees that made up the thickets rising eastwards and westwards. Merlin briefly wondered whether people used to go hunting in those woods, if there had ever been shooting parties. Those were the hobbies of the rich, after all; therefore it was likely. Merlin, with his solidly working class background, would never have imagined himself a guest in such a house. Well, he supposed stranger things happened every day. 

Wandering around he took a look at his premises. The bed, which he sat upon, wasn't of the most comfortable. It was made of wool and consequently lumpy. The covers seemed inadequate for the season too. Or perhaps it was the room that was cold. Merlin walked to the radiators. None were working and no fire was lit in the fireplace.

He hoped Mr Cornwall had a fire going in his room or his pneumonia would get worse. He sincerely hoped his bedroom was toastier than Merlin's, but then again it probably was. Didn't Helen say many of the rooms were shut because the house was so old? Obviously they hadn't readied this room in view of guests, but Mr Cornwall's, which had been long occupied, would have all the comforts a convalescent might need.

Having fixed his tie in the mirror, Merlin went downstairs for dinner. The table was set though in a less fussy way than Merlin had imagined or that such a house led you to expect. There was only one glass per person and the flatware consisted of one fork and knife each, no spoon. Merlin sighed with relief. This meant he wouldn't have to watch his table manners as he tried to sort a fish knife from a butter knife.

Once Arthur was seated too, Merlin took his place at the table. 

“I'm afraid the kitchen wasn't well stocked,” Helen said. “I had no notion we would be having guests.”

“Whatever's on the menu is going to be fine by me, Mrs Cornwall,” Merlin answered her. “I'm used to normal kitchens.”

There were broth and sandwiches to be had, slices of cured ham, some left over roast beef, and a bowlful of boiled potatoes. It wasn't a rich menu but Merlin's stomach kept gurgling so he piled ham onto his plate and scattered the potatoes on top of them. Arthur was a little less quick to heap food on his plate, but he was no less eager to take a mouthful. By the time Merlin had got to his cold roast beef, Arthur had already eaten two slices. 

“So, Merlin,” Helen said, “how long do you plan to stay with us?”

Merlin finished chewing, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Only tonight.” Merlin hoped Helen didn't believe he wanted to outstay his welcome. He wasn't so rude as all that. Besides, it couldn't possibly snow all night long. He'd be able to start again as soon as morning broke. “I bank on being on the road again tomorrow.”

“Merlin's a commercial traveller,” Arthur said, putting down his glass. “That's why he's so keen on abandoning us.”

“A commercial traveller.” Helen rang the bell. “That must be interesting.”

“I certainly meet a lot of people.” Merlin was by nature a chatty person. He liked being around people. Selling them stuff was just an extension of that. Sometimes after he'd traded some inconsequential, off-topic jibber-jabber he'd all but persuaded a potential customer to buy his products. It just came that easy. If it weren't for the post war economy he'd be rich. “I would never give up my job.”

A servant entered. This one was more muscular than Cedric. His body wirier with a physicality that seemed to have been forged by a lot of time spent outdoors. Like Cedric, he wore no uniform, and like him he was quite short tempered. “Why did you call me?”

“We need more wine, Alvarr,” Helen said, shaking her glass in the air. “We've got guests, can't you see?”

“Yes.” Alvarr's jaw clenched. “Straight away, ma'm.”

As Alvarr retired behind a pair of baize doors, Helen went back to talking to her guests. “So how long have you known each other?”

“Since tonight,” Arthur said, teasing a smile out of Merlin. 

“Oh,” Helen spread her hands on the table, her rings glittering. “I thought you two were... much closer. That was the impression I got.”

“I'm sorry if I implied.” Arthur gazed at Merlin before shifting his glance onto his aunt. “I didn't mean to tease or to lie. I hope you think me honest enough not to suspect that.” He looked to Merlin again. “I just hope I was predicting the future there.” His mouth twitched and he swallowed. “If, that is, Merlin will have it.”

Merlin couldn't answer. They were interrupted by the sound of the front door bell ringing. 

Mrs Cornwall startled, eyes going bigger. “I don't understand where that slacker Cedric is. He ought to get this.” Even if she'd said so, she stood. “I'll open myself.”

“I'll go.” Arthur disposed of his napkin. “You can't keep toing and froing. you'll catch a cold dashing out there.”

“I'm adamant.” Helen stared Arthur down. “This is my house. I'll get it. It's probably the doctor anyway.”

With Helen gone Arthur and Merlin went again at their food and chatted a while. Arthur said he hoped Merlin wasn't offended at his implying intimacy before. He had spoken without any premeditation. But if Merlin thought it a prevarication, a pushing of boundaries, then Arthur, as a gentleman, had to apologise. Merlin told him he'd meant it. It was fine. He didn't like standing on ceremony. He preferred easy dealings. He was trying to explain this point when Helen got back with a man in tow.

He was tall dark-haired, wearing more stubble than was proper, handsomely rakish. He had laughing eyes and lips quirked on one side. When he saw the table spread, he doffed his fedora and said, “Pardon me for interrupting your meal, but there's one hell of a storm raging outside, and I can't say I'm sorry I barged in.”

Uselessly, Helen said, “This is not our doctor. He's with a group of people stuck in the snow just outside our gates. He wants our help getting unstuck.”

“I think nobody can help you tonight,” Arthur said. “Not in these conditions. It's freezing out there . It would be suicide.”

“I suppose I'll have to tell the others we're in in for a night here then,” the man said. When Helen huffed, he turned around and said. “It'll be a pleasure to spend it here with such a lovely lady.” He then bent, kissed her hand, looked up at her from under his eyelashes, and added, “Gwaine Lothson.”


	3. Chapter 3

As he'd breezed in, Gwaine went out again, putting on his hat anew. Before long he came back with two women and a man in tow. The first to enter was a tall blonde woman with a plumed fascinator. She had large green eyes made bigger by her expression and framed by flyaway wisps of hair. A step behind her stood a short plump woman in a severe woollen dress. It was black and grey, with a hem that reached her calves. The last man belonging to the party was brown-haired, young, and dressed in a sombre style that clashed with his age. 

While she shifted from foot to foot, the tall woman blew on her hands, muttering to herself about the beastly weather. She had a posh accent, a public school one definitely, but her choice of words wasn't quite as dainty as her manner of speaking. The other woman patted her on the arm, saying “There, there.” 

Gwaine stepped forward to introduce them. “This is Elena Gawant. You might know her if you like music. She is a singer. Quite famous too.”

“I wouldn't say famous, famous,” Elena said. “I do sing in London now. Which is a step up. And I've been contracted for Paris. But it's only a one time thing and I'm pooping myself for fear I'll disappoint the French.”

“Beautiful and humble.” Gwaine winked at her. “And these are her travelling companions. Mrs Grunhilda Dachshund and Mr Gilli Featherstone, her secretary.”

“I actually only need a secretary to remind me of my appointments.” Elena made a face. “I never can remember them otherwise.”

“Elena, Grunhilda, Gilli,” Gwaine said, turning half towards them. “This our hostess, Mrs... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

Helen turned her nose up at Gwaine. “Helen Mora.” When she realised her mistake, she rolled her eyes. “Helen Cornwall, that is. Sometime I forget I'm married.”

“Oh, don't worry about that kind of thing at all.” Elena placed her hand on Helen's shoulder. “I forget everything too. Except for eating and drinking. That I remember. I do that a lot.” Her eyes went bigger at the implications of what she'd said. As to make everyone forget she'd uttered the words, she said, “But I know you, don't I?”

“I think you must be mistaken.” Helen took a step back. “I'm sure we're strangers to each other.”

“Well, I know why you must think that,” Elena said. “We've never actually met, not face to face. But I've heard of you. You're the great opera singer.”

Helen cleared her throat in her fist. “Now that I'm married I'm retired.”

“Oh.” Elena's face fell. “Oh dear. What a pity.” Her bosom filling, she added, “I never shall. Give up, I mean. I'll always sing. As long as my vocal chords permit, that is. That's why I'll never marry. Or I'll only marry a man who doesn't mind touring all the time. But you must. Sing. For us tonight. Informally. Surely, you can do that. I'll sing too. Keep you company.”

Helen's smile thinned. “If there's time, I most certainly will.” She looked round to the spread on the table. “In the meanwhile I'll go warn Cedric he needs to add places for four more.”

As she disappeared in a swish of silk, her new guests sat down, Gwaine helping Elena to her seat, then taking a chair himself. He sprawled in it with his legs flung wide and his arms draped over its back. The other two flanked Elena, Grunhilda arranging her shawl, Gilli tapping his feet.

Now that they were all ready to partake, Cedric came back with a new trolley. He placed extra plates and cutlery on the table and laid new bowls of food on it. He left a stack of napkins piled at one end of it. When he was done, he told them that the mistress was upstairs with the master and that she would come down later. “Too busy,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed the trolley away, back to the kitchens.

Seeing as there would be no help from the butler, the new guests served themselves. It was Elena who started heaping food on her plate, saying she was famished. Her lady in waiting and her secretary did the same. Gwaine was the only one who seemed to be paying no attention to the bill of fare, but rather to his surroundings. “So,” he said, toying with a fork, “where exactly am I?”

“At Tintagel manor,” Arthur answered. “My uncle's place.”

“And where's the gentleman?” Gwaine swivelled his eyes round the room. 

Having eaten before, Arthur only desultorily picked at the rest of his own food. “He's not well. He's in his room.”

“I see.” He nodded to himself. Tapping his fingers on the tablecloth, he mumbled under his breath. “And you are?”

“Arthur Pendragon.” Though it was quite innocuous, Arthur didn't seem to eager to answer the question. “His nephew.”

Gwaine smiled at Merlin next. “Are you two brothers?”

“Oh no.” Merlin didn't understand how Gwaine could have mistaken him for Arthur's relative. The two of them didn't look like each other, didn't sound like each other and most certainly didn't behave in a similar manner. “I'm much in the same situation as you. I got stranded in the storm and Arthur was kind enough to invite me here.”

“It is a hell of a night outside.” Gwaine glanced in the direction of the window. “One might even go with Lytton and say 'twas dark and stormy.” He chuckled. “But forgive me, you must be wondering why I'm asking so many questions.”

“The thought crossed my mind.” Arthur's shoulders went up.

“See,” Gwaine said, as the others kept on eating, “I'm a journalist.”

“And a great one.” Elena put that in while still chewing a mouthful.

“And as such.” Gwaine acknowledged Elena's words with a smile. “I'm curious by nature.”

Merlin could admit he was curious too. The new arrivals were an interesting bunch, each with their antics. For a star, Elena was down to earth and quite easy to talk to. She discussed the theatre quite openly and described the down sides of touring in a way that underlined its lack of glamour. Her companion told her off quite often for being too talkative, not lady-like enough, which surprised Merlin, because he understood the woman to be in Elena's pay. They had to have an odd relationship. The secretary nodded to everything that Elena said, but Merlin wasn't sure he was paying much attention to her actual words. He was too busy eating.

Gwaine took the lion share of the conversation. “I'm writing Elena's biography. I know I shouldn't say it because I'm the author but it's going to be great.”

“You're a fantastic writer,” Elena said. “The subject, I'm afraid, is going to be extremely lacking, but I trust you to do it all the justice it can be done.”

Gwaine toasted Elena. Gilli wrote something in his notebook. Grunhilda finished cutting her roast beef into tiny vertical ribbons, which she ate systematically till the plate was clean. When they were all done, Elena moved to the piano and played a few tunes. They were show ones, uplifting songs and jazzy numbers coming straight from America. Though he rarely went to clubs and theatres, Merlin recognised them from the radio. They were all jolly and upbeat, perfectly in line with the season. When she was done with the latest solo, Elena stood and asked for accompaniment. Gwaine sprang forward, taking her vacated place. While she was a good piano player, Elena was a great singer. Her voice was gentle but full, hitting the high notes with ease, never faltering on the transition to lower ones. Merlin liked her a lot. 

They were about to start on another song when Helen came back down. 

Elena sprang forwards and Gwaine stood from his seat at the piano. “I hope we're not disturbing you.”

“Oh no, you're not.” Helen clutched the door handle behind her. “There's little I can do in the way of hospitality for you, I can concede when it comes to entertaining.” 

“If you want to join us and sing,” Elena said, looking at the other guests. “I'm sure we'd all rejoice. Such a great singer as you. I heard you recordings, you know. Nobody's ever sung the Carmen like you.”

“I'm sorry but I won't sing.” Helen said it as though it was an announcement made for the benefit of the whole roomful. “I hope you won't think it rude of me but it's such an idle activity and my husband is in such a weak state I can't possibly leave him. Not that he can put up with any separation either.” She glanced at Arthur, as though, as her only relative, he was the only one likely to understand. “Just before you got here he sent me a note asking me to stay up with him. I couldn't say no obviously.” She took a breath. Her voice was sweet, when she added, “Of course, it was rather rash of Arthur to put you all up for the night, but I suppose the weather's what it is.” Right then the wind roared more mightily than before. “And you couldn't be left to it. As it is, I do hope you'll make yourselves at home.”

After she'd left, they all gathered round the fire. Gilli asked for a coffee. Arthur rang the bell for either Cedric or Alvarr, but neither appeared. So he went himself to prepare some. Since Merlin had an inkling he wouldn't know how, he followed him into the kitchens. There they found a burly man sitting by himself at the table, a plate of half finished soup in front of him. When they asked him who he was, he said he was the van driver. Arthur admitted he remembered parking next to a van. “But what are you doing here?” 

“Engine's bust,” said the driver, going back to eating before he was done delivering his sentence. “I can't see a thing in this light. Must wait for tomorrow to fix it.”

With Merlin's help Arthur made some coffee and served it back in the drawing room. As they had their beverages, they chatted in front of the fire. Gwaine did most of the talking, telling his audience about his writings. Elena listened the most attentively, while her secretary took notes in his booklet. 

Before midnight could chime, Grunhilda told Elena that she should go up to her room. “You must get your beauty sleep my dear. It's what divas like you must do.”

Elena laughed and said, “I'm not a diva.”

Grunhilda rose from her perch on her armchair. “Never matter what you think, my dear. You are. So chop, chop.”

“But I was having fun.” Elena blew air from her cheeks. “It's unfair.”

“Think of the jewels, dear,” Grunhilda said.

Elena's hand went to the pearls around her neck. A lovely golden pendant in the shape of a bird hung from the string. “Oh. Yes of course.”

With Elena and her party going upstairs only Gwaine, Arthur and Merlin were left. Gwaine drank some of the brandy the butler in his carelessness had left behind. Arthur talked about how he looked forward to meeting his uncle in the morning. Merlin discussed the vagaries of commercial travelling, describing previous adventures and mishaps. Before long they'd covered all topics that strangers might touch upon. With the clock striking again, they had little left but to do but wish each other good night. 

Lights turned off, Merlin tackled the stairs on his way to the first floor. He hoped he remembered where his room was. He wasn't in a mood to traipse around this old house all night. He might get lost. And that wasn't just a scenario he wanted to indulge in. The day was taking its toll on him and he was genuinely looking forward to a good night's sleep. In spite of all his wishing, Merlin's memory didn't prove good, or the layout of the manor was too convoluted for the casual visitor, so he got lost. Passing a series of shut doors that looked one like the other, he made a round tour of the premises without finding his bedroom. He passed the same stretch of landing thrice at least. Fortunately, on his fourth round, he ran right into Arthur, who, after having locked all the doors, was on his way up too. 

Holding an oil lamp, he directed his steps towards one the neighbouring corridors. His was the only illumination that was to be had. Merlin believed it would have been better if such lamps were to be scattered at strategic intervals all over the house. The ground floor with its fireplace and lamps was well lighted, but the upper floors were dark, like an accident waiting to happen. Though the fickle light Arthur's lamp cast was not enough to induce confidence or cheer, Merlin was not one to get moody because of his surroundings – he didn't believe in ghost stories for one – but he couldn't say he was unhappy with Arthur's presence. So he chatted his head off as they ambled along the passageway. 

When they got to the door to Merlin's room, Arthur asked, “Are you sure you don't want to me to fetch you anything?”

Arthur had had as hard a day as Merlin. “I'm positive. You should go get some rest.”

“We could have more wine.” Holding the lamp aloft Arthur shifted from side to side. “I'm not tired at all.” 

As a yawn betrayed Arthur, Merlin smiled and said, “I'm sure.”

“Well, I'll wish you a good night then.”

Merlin almost hoped he could be selfish and invite Arthur in for a chat. But he didn't. Arthur needed his sleep as much as Merlin did. He'd had a long drive, met a new relative, and was informed of the ill health of another. It was quite a lot to take in in twenty four hours. So he wished Arthur a good night in return and reluctantly closed the door on him. 

Alone, he changed into pyjamas and went to the bathroom to fill a hot water bottle. With the room as cold as the cave of a polar bear, it was a requirement. Thank god he'd found it at the bottom of a chest. 

Before tucking himself in he walked across to the window and peered out. The night was clear with the starkness of frost. Stars shone in the sky like tiny pinpricks unmarred by clouds. While the wind hummed against the panes and shook them fiercely, snow fell heavily in fat whirling flakes that would have delighted a child.


	4. Chapter 4

The bed was cold. No matter how many blankets Merlin piled up on top of it, it stayed that way. The hot water bottle worked for a while. But all it did was warm one patch of linens while the rest of the mattress remained damp and chilly. Fortunately, Merlin was used to having to put up wherever, so he managed to get as comfortable as he could. 

Ignoring the rattling of doors and windows, he burrowed under, hoping the pocket of warmth he'd found would lull him to sleep. Making plans for the day ahead, he got sleepier and sleepier, until at last he lost control of his thoughts. Yet, as the the night wore on, the noises intensified, waking him up. Burying his head under his pillow, he tried to settle once more, telling himself such an old house was bound to be noisy, but that couldn't last long. A shuffling sound came to his attention, and he couldn't forget about it. Tramp, tramp, shuffle, shuffle, it went, like someone dragging slippers on a wooden floor. 

Like he was, someone must be awake, either going outside for some fresh air, or taking a stroll because they couldn't sleep. He got them. This place wasn't exactly of the cosiest. But still they could try not to disturb other sleepers. Merlin was resettling when he sat bolt upright. The noise had discontinued. As if someone had stopped right before his door. That was weird. What were people wanting with him at this time of night? Could it be Arthur? No, he was sure to be sleeping. So who was outside his door? 

Sitting up, Merlin pricked his ears. He could hear no other sound from outside. Sure he hadn't dreamt the shuffling that had taken place there, Merlin wrapped himself in his thick dressing gown and crossed the room, groping for the door. He was nearly there, when it began rattling. Someone just had to be trying to find their way in. Merlin hadn't imagined it. Maybe they thought this was their room and they were trying to gain entrance? Or maybe they had more sinister designs, like robbing Merlin. After all Merlin truly knew no one here. While he thought Arthur a good chap, to whom he owed a good turn, he was completely unacquainted with the others. Once again he traversed the room. This time he lit a candle so he could see what was going on.

Enough was enough. They'd woken him. Grabbing the candlestick, he crawled towards the door and flung it open. Looking left and right, he scoped out the corridor. There was no one outside. He stepped forwards, exploring a length of the passageway. He could catch a glimpse of nothing but shadows. All there was was him, his own footsteps heavy on the old boards. All rooms appeared closed, and were likely locked too, and he could imagine no place anyone could hide. Though why they should want to was beyond Merlin.

Surveying the floor he noticed just how lonely it was. He shook his head. He was imagining things, hearing things. Usually, he wasn't prone to this. Though he seldom slept at home, he never had a problem with putting up at lonely, out of the way places. This one wasn't even creepy; just old. He really needed to stop fantasising and put himself to bed. So thinking, he made it back to his room, and crept under the covers. 

He'd barely closed his eyes, when he made out a thumping sound. What the hell! What was with this house! 

Someone was up and about making noise. And it was purposeful too because it didn't sound like the accidental creaking all ancient houses were prone to. This was a deliberate, rhythmic thumping; it had a steadiness that had nothing of the accidental about it. It was quite rude too. Whoever was making this noise had no respect for the other guests, who likely enough, were trying to sleep too. It was late; probably past one in the morning, maybe closer to two. It was no time to be causing a ruckus.

Merlin rose again. This time he would complain. He'd do it in the nicest possible terms, but he'd say a word or two to the person causing all this hoopla all the same. All the guests seemed like decent people, surely he'd persuade them. With candlestick in hand, he went outside in search of the noise maker. Knowing there was no one on this floor, Merlin went up to the second. Once there, he stopped and paid attention to all small sounds. And there it was, the one Merlin had heard from his room, in all its syncopated glory. 

It came from the depth of the house, beyond a bend in the passage, accessed by a set of steps. Needing to find the culprit out, Merlin proceeded in the direction of the noise. Light showed beneath one of the closed doors. Merlin needn't have put his ears it to find out the thumping was coming from this room. He knocked rather less softly than he might have considering the hour. 

Someone answered, “Come in, come in.”

The room Merlin entered in was well turned out. It was clean and ample with antique furniture scattered all over. A four poster sat in the middle of it, just in front of a smouldering fireplace. In the bed lay a man in his sixties. His hair was grey like steel, but must once have been light. His eyes were of a clear blue barely flecked by green and his nose was a bit large for his face. He looked a little like Arthur, and also unlike him. But all in all all clues pointed out to this man being his uncle. Despite Helen's tale of his being gravely ill, Mr Cornwall didn't look wan or pale or like he was wasting away. His weight was normal and there was colour to his cheeks.

Yet ailing he must be for a few medicine bottles were ranged across the bed side table. But they looked like simple remedies, Merlin recognised a bottle of aspirin and one of cough medicine. Nothing looked like the medication you would take for serious illnesses.

At a loss to explain his presence, Merlin dithered on the threshold. 

“Where's William?” Mr Cornwall looked around the room as if this William could be hiding in its shadows. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don't know who William is.” Merlin couldn't remember having met any man going by that name.

“My valet.” Cornwall raised his chin. “He sleeps in the next room.”

Of course, Helen had mentioned him to Merlin, but just in passing, which was why he hadn't remembered him. “I'm sorry, I have no idea where he could be.”

“I see.” Mr Cornwall breathed in and the covers lifted with the movement. “So who are you?”

That was an excellent question, Merlin saw. The poor man had to have no inkling who Merlin was. He must only be wondering why Merlin was there at all. He started towards the bed and said, “My name's Merlin Emrys. My car broke down in the middle of the road.” The wind sang outside. “Your nephew was kind enough to drive me here. Your wife extended her hospitality to me.”

“So you're a friend of my nephew's?”

Merlin didn't know how to answer that question. He hadn't known Arthur long but he felt warmly towards him, thought him a good fellow indeed. “I'm working on it.”

“In which case you're a friend of the family. Can't you go find my valet for me?”

Merlin saw no obstacles to that request. “That's why you were thumping, wasn't it?” A cane, he noticed, rested on the floor by the bed. “I can go look for him.”

On a mission now, Merlin went to the next room and knocked. When no one answered, he tried the handle, which gave. He stepped in and found the plainly furnished room with its single bed empty. William the valet was not there. Not wanting to leave an old man alone in the middle of the night, Merlin was now dead set on completing his mission. He tried the bathroom and all the open doors on this floor. Not content, he marched downstairs and checked the kitchens. Maybe William had gone down for a glass of milk or some food. The hearth was still, all lights were off and the kitchen empty. “I'm sorry,” Merlin told Mr Cornwall once he was back in his room. “I searched all over but I couldn't find your valet.”

Mr Cornwall's mouth opened in surprise. “He's supposed to look after me.”

“I see.” Merlin shifted from foot to foot. “I'm afraid he's nowhere to be found.”

“I never ring,” Mr Cornwall said, looking at the cord hanging from a rope by the the bed, which was attached to a bell. “It's obnoxious. But when I thump he's supposed to come.”

Unable to find the butler, Merlin felt a compunction to otherwise help Mr Cornwall. It was his hospitality he was enjoying, after all, and the man was reportedly unwell. He couldn't leave him like this. “Are you sure there's nothing else I can do?”

“You can sit here.” Mr Cornwall indicated a chair. “Since I'm missing my valet I can talk to you.”

Merlin was no good at valeting, but perhaps the invalid only needed someone to talk to to while away the night hours. Since he was already awake, Merlin could do that for him. Decision taken, he moved the chair closer to the bed and sat in it. “Um, talk away.”

“You saw my nephew, didn't you?” Mr Cornwall asked. “That's your story.”

“Yeah.” Merlin didn't quite get why Mr Cornwall was enquiring about this when Merlin had already said Arthur had driven him here. “We parted company after dinner.”

“So you're intimate.”

“Not really.” Merlin didn't want to lie to Mr Cornwall. “But as I said we're working towards a friendship.”

That seemed to satisfy the old man because he inclined his head. After that he grew thoughtfully quiet, humming to himself as if conducting an inner dialogue only he was privy to.

“Did he talk about the letter?” Mr Cornwall coughed in his fist. “The letter I sent him?”

Before continuing, Merlin went and poured Mr Cornwall a glass of water. Though Mr Cornwall didn't seem to need assistance, he helped him drink. Mr Cornwall's hands were steady holding the glass and he didn't spill any liquid. Still Merlin was glad to be of assistance. When Mr Cornwall was done, Merlin set the empty back on the table. “He mentioned a letter.” Merlin remembered that distinctly. “He read it all.”

“Good thing.” Mr Cornwall nodded to himself. “That letter is very important.”

“I see.” Merlin couldn't really comment since he'd never seen it. It would also be rude of him to ask to be shown it.

“You must get to him,” Mr Cornwall took Merlin, grabbing him by the hem of his dressing gown, “You must fetch him immediately.”

Merlin heard the clock sound the half hour; it was past two. “Er, it's pretty late and I don't know where his room is.” Finding Arthur would entail knocking on closed doors and likely awaking someone else by mistake. “We'll breakfast together most likely. I'll tell him you wanted to see him then.”

“If you promise.” Mr Cornwall's grip on Merlin tightened. “If you promise to get my nephew...”

“I will.” Mr Cornwall was perhaps a little more incoherent than Merlin had imagined. At first sight he looked healthy enough and he was certainly strong. His grip on Merlin told the tale. But his thought processes were a little impaired. “First thing, as soon as I wake up,”

Mr Cornwall released him. “Good,” he said. “You must remember to get him.”

“I won't forget.” Merlin wasn't likely to at this point. “I swear.”

“See to it.” Mr Cornwall settled back on the pillow. “See to it.”

Merlin didn't want to renew his promises. Once seemed like enough to him. He wasn't used to going back on his word either so there was no point. But he couldn't leave quite yet, knowing that Mr Cornwall wasn't done with him. “Your family seem nice.”

“Ah,” Mr Cornwall said, “so you've met my wife.”

Merlin couldn't forget the impression she'd made on him. “Yes, I have.”

“And what do you think?” Mr Cornwall didn't seem to require an answer for he ploughed on wholly on his own. “Quite a one she is. I swear a picked the only one like that.”

Merlin wanted to ask what that was about, but thought better of it. Though his curiosity was pricked, he couldn't exactly probe on such personal matters. So he just made a conversational noise, something between agreement, and acknowledgement.

There was a book on the bedside table. A bookmark stuck out at one end, leaving a few pages unread. He could tell the book was old, the spine lined, probably a favourite. Unable to quite leave Mr Cornwall alone, Merlin asked him if he wanted him to read to him. When Mr Cornwall said yes, Merlin intoned the words aloud, with gusto, hoping to please the old man.

At first Mr Cornwall put in a comment or two, asked him to go faster or slow down so he could savour his words. He did this, Merlin thought, so Merlin would read in the manner Cornwall was accustomed to, with all the pauses in the right places. But before long he stopped, putting fewer words in. Merlin looked up from his reading and sat very still. The room grew silent with only the ticking clock keeping him company. It was three now, a glance told him. Standing, Merlin adjusted Mr Cornwall's blankets and heard him murmur something about the foolishness of men, about them being all dupes. He couldn't tell whether that was a quote from some book or other, or a sentiment expressed in the fogs of near sleep.

His own judgement was not the best either. He was starting to feel the strain of the day, with his eyes closing and his thoughts thinning. He stopped himself from falling asleep in the chair. But it was a near thing. He checked on Mr Cornwall, who by now was snoring softly. His mouth was open; his face serene. It looked as though he'd be alright until tomorrow. Quietly, Merlin closed the book and put it back where he'd found it. Wishing Mr Cornwall good night, Merlin left the room and made for his.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin woke to bright light flooding his room. It was nearly white, reflecting the glare of snow that must have accumulated outside, and not particularly warm, not in the way shafts of sunshine were in summer. Somehow, though the fire hadn't been stoked, his bed was warm enough. It had to have leeched body heat from him. The air outside his blanket cocoon seemed to be nearly as frigid as it had been the night before.

There was nothing for it but getting out and having a quick but warming bath. Then he could dress, breakfast, and go on his way. Before that he might ask Arthur for his telephone number though. It seemed like quite a pity if they were never to interact again. Merlin felt he wanted to. Arthur was easy to talk to and in need he'd proved a friend.

With a lot of determination to brave the cold, Merlin got out of bed and scuttled for the bathroom. When he was cleaned and dressed, he proceeded downstairs. He was on the landing when he met Arthur, who had been coming up. “Merlin! I was about to knock on your door to see if you were up.”

“As you can see.” Merlin grinned. “I am. Ta da.”

“Glad you weren't hoping for breakfast in bed.” Arthur gave him a narrow shrug. “I tried to get Cedric to serve it, but he never showed up.”

“Butlers these days, eh?” Merlin didn't quite know how else to reply. Except for childhood illnesses, he'd never had breakfast in bed. So the necessity of having one now seemed unimportant.

“I hope you slept well,” Arthur said then. “And that I didn't use up all the hot water. I woke up early and I'm afraid I overindulged.”

“You didn't.” Merlin did in fact get to have a quick but warm bath. “You've all been very hospitable.”

“I'm glad.”

Before they were meant to meet the others, Merlin intended to ask the question that had been on his mind since last night. “I was wondering, where did you sleep last night?” 

“I have a favourite room here at Tintagel.” Arthur's expression grew fond. “Growing up, I used to come here quite often and this one would be my eyrie. It's on the top floor, see, and I, well, fancied I was a knight who'd stormed the castle and taken refuge in the room belonging to the evil sorcerer I'd defeated.”

“Can't the sorcerer be good?” Merlin asked.

“Maybe, if you want him to be.” Arthur moved his weight from one side to the other. “But why were you asking, about, you know, where I was sleeping?”

“Because I went looking for you.”

“Really?” Arthur straightened, looking Merlin directly in the eyes, his own larger, with his pupils blown wider. “You wanted me last night?”

Merlin said, “Yes, but I couldn't find you.”

Arthur was about to answer him, when Helen appeared at the top of the stairs. She paused when she saw them, then she took a few tottering steps downwards, clutching the balustrade as if for support. She was wearing a black satin nightie with a house jacket to match, and holding onto a soft white handkerchief, which she used to dab her eyes with. Today she looked pale. Her hair wasn't done up, but hanging down in curls that had loosened over the night. In a low voice she said, “God knows I don't want to be the one to make the announcement, but who else is there?” She sighed. “Arthur, I'm afraid your uncle died in the night.” 

Merlin startled. He couldn't believe it. He'd talked to Mr Cornwall but a few hours before and while he didn't look like a man in peak condition, he'd surely hadn't seemed about to actually die. It made no sense to Merlin. It was something that almost sounded like a joke to him. One in very bad taste. “He can't be dead, I mean...” He was about to say he'd spent an hour or so at his bedside, but somehow he found he didn't feel ready to share the news with the mistress of the house. “I thought you said he was all right last night...” 

Helen answered as though Merlin hadn't almost revealed his blunder. “Oh I know he seemed fine. He even had a heftier meal than usual. But I don't think that was necessarily a good sign. I fear he knew he was so ill and wanted to have one last good thing.”

Arthur's face fell. His eyes got wet with unshed tears. “But how did it happen? You told me he was ill, but I wasn't expecting... I mean generally people don't just die overnight without a warning. They worsen first.” 

Mirroring Arthur, Helen dabbed at her eyes, though hers weren't moist. “I can't tell you, Arthur. We can never know how these things will work out. He seemed to be doing well at around dinner time, true. I was with him till midnight so I'm positive. I'd have never gone to bed otherwise.” She released a breath. “But I did and it happened. God's ways are mysterious.”

“So he was alone when he died?” Arthur asked, his shoulders dipping, his tone getting more sombre.

“I can't imagine he was.” Helen widened her eyes as if appalled by the question. “When I was done, William took over sitting with him. In fact he was the one who woke me up this morning. He didn't even need to speak. I knew what news he would impart before he did.” She balled up her kerchief. “If only I hadn't gone to bed. He'd have had me in his last moments.”

Arthur said, “You couldn't have suspected.”

“I keep thinking I could have done something to prevent his death.” She lurched as though in a faint, but Arthur grabbed her so she stayed on her feet. 

“I'm sure that's not the case,” Arthur said, his hand steadying her. “Who can stop death?”

Armed with the knowledge Mr Cornwall had been fine till three, Merlin couldn't help barging in. “Was William with him all night?” He hadn't been when Merlin wandered in. “When did he find out your husband had passed?”

“Oh I can't tell now,” Helen said, touching her fingers to her temple. “I'm so shaken I can hardly think straight.”

“But that's important.” Arthur looked to Merlin, as if thanking him for the apt question. 

“I suppose he was with him...” Helen bit her lip. “Or William absented himself a while.”

“Where was he when he had such an important task?” Arthur didn't seem happy with the notion Mr Cornwall's valet had gone gallivanting about the house the night he was supposed to look after his master. 

“I've no idea,” Helen said. “I know where he is now though. He's gone to fetch the doctor.”

“But when did he go?” It was still pretty early, Merlin thought. “He must have started when it was still dark.”

“He did, poor soul. I know it was dangerous with the roads still so dark and all the snow. But William wouldn't be persuaded. I told him we should wait for the doctor to get here. He must at some point. But William wouldn't listen to reason. He was so determined to perform this last service for his master.”

“Did he go on foot?” Arthur sounded as appalled as Merlin felt about the notion.

“Oh, yes, he did. My car won't start and he hasn't one of his own,” Helen said. “I hope you've nothing else to ask me. I'm not feeling well.” She placed a hand on her heart. “You've no idea how much I'm suffering. I can't possibly be in public longer. You'll have to allow me to mourn alone.” So saying, she turned around and climbed the stairs again.

Arthur leant against the banister and hung his head, shaking it.

At first Merlin thought he should keep silent and give him a moment to process the information he'd been given. After all Arthur had just learnt he'd lost a relative. When, Arthur straightened though, inhaling deeply, and widening the set of his shoulders, as if telling the world he was ready to face it, Merlin knew it was all right to talk. “Last night, I met your uncle.”

“You what?” Arthur scrunched up his face.

“I woke up because of some noises,” Merlin explained. “I saw your uncle. He seemed quite all right; he insisted on me getting you. I told him I didn't know which room you had so he just made me promise to fetch you in the morning.”

“Oh.” Arthur's look of contrition deepened, a muscle in his cheek jumped. “And to think he wanted to see me. That's quite sad, given how things turned out.”

“He asked about the letter he wrote to you.” In the wake of Helen's revelation, Merlin had quite forgotten about it, but the recollection struck again now. “He wanted to know about it.”

“The letter?” Arthur patted his pockets. “It's here.” He unfolded it and started reading it aloud. “My dear boy, it's been a while since I last wrote to you. Your father tells me you're in London at present. If that's the case, then I'd be obliged if you'd come and visit. I'd rather you did it sooner than later. While you're at it, make sure to bring a friend, your loving uncle. PS: don't tell your aunt.”

Merlin looked at the letter Arthur showed him. It was indeed brief. The phrase 'bring a friend' was underlined. The writing was small and cramped, hurried, but legible still. “It looks like he made a point of letting you know you should come quickly and not alone.”

As he pocketed the letter again, Arthur nodded. “My uncle liked being mysterious. He was like that.” He smiled. “He enjoyed dressing up as Santa at Christmas and acting as if he wasn't behind all our presents. He would also write these small notes to us, very cryptic, and let us guess the latest news concerning him.”

“I see.” Merlin did believe Mr Cornwall's habits explained the letter. But this clarification failed to put him at ease. He didn't know why or how, but he had a bad feeling about all that had happened. “Never mind then.”

“Never mind what?”

“All these oddities.” Merlin had spoken before he could consider the wisdom of doing so. “Your uncle dying over night. His valet setting off so early it was practically dark. It doesn't make sense.”

“I would say that it does. Death waits for no one and you heard Helen. She tried to stop William, but the fellow's so faithful he wouldn't take her advice.” Arthur walked from one end of the landing to the other then about turned. “On the other hand something really is off.”

Merlin had a feeling Arthur knew something he didn't. “Well, what is it?”

Arthur let the hall clock ring out, then said, “Someone's been through my things.”

“What!” This made Merlin highly uncomfortable. If someone had entered his room, he wouldn't feel quite as safe. “How do you know?”

“It was last night,” Arthur said, catching Merlin's gaze with his own. “I went to the bathroom and when I returned some of my things had been moved. My jacket was folded differently and one of my shoes was in the middle of the room.”

“And you're not the untidy type.” 

“Not as untidy as all that.”

Too many things were odd. Too much was unexplained. It was true that a lot also made sense. People died when they would and others reacted to those deaths impulsively, but still a lot of this didn't sit well with Merlin. “Who do you think it was that did it?”

Arthur bit his nail. “Cedric's my main suspect. He doesn't look trustworthy at all.”

“Neither does Cenred.” Merlin was almost scared of the fellow.

“One of them.” Arthur nodded. 

“Look, don't tell your aunt about any of this.” Merlin felt this was the better plan. “About me meeting your uncle and about your displaced things.”

His face tightening as he thought this over, Arthur hummed. 

Merlin couldn't tell whether he'd offended Arthur with his suggestion or not. He'd just told him to keep secrets from his aunt. He might well take umbrage.

But Arthur didn't look angry. “She doesn't know the letter exists because my uncle asked me to keep it private. But rest assured I won't tell her about the other two incidents either.”

“Thank you.” Merlin wished he could have behaved more openly in this instance, but something told him he'd better not to. “I'm relieved.”

“I'm sorry about bringing you here, you know. I was trying to help out. I thought I'd spare you a night spent at the side on the road, but this isn't much better, is it? You've been involved in such sad goings on.”

“Don't worry about it, Arthur.” This most certainly wasn't his fault. He'd been trying to do the right thing by Merlin. He couldn't have foreseen his uncle would die during the night. “It would have been a dismal night outside. Dangerous too. I was better off where I was.”

Touching his arm, Arthur said, “Let me make amends. Let me offer you breakfast.”


	6. Chapter 6

By the time they got downstairs, breakfast was already served in the morning room. Eggs laid in bowls and platters with various recipes to choose from. There were poached ones and boiled ones, sitting side by side with scrambled ones. Fried bacon cut in crispy strips rested on a grill. Cheese slices listed one against the other on a small dish. On a larger one salmon was staked. A teapot vied for space with a coffee Thermos. 

When Arthur and Merlin joined him, Gwaine was liberally helping himself to a portion of hashed browns. Gwaine stopped ladling food onto his plate and said, “Terribly sorry to hear about your uncle, old chap. I can't imagine what waking up to such news feels like.” His expression filled with warmth and understanding, his voice low, as if he didn't want to hurt Arthur using his usual bantering tones. Then having paid Arthur his respects, he returned to the table and started on his breakfast. 

Arthur didn't take any food but brought a cup to the table and Merlin seated himself between Arthur and Elena, who was going at her cereal. She kept munching away even as she greeted them. Grunhilda scowled at her for this etiquette breach while Gwaine smiled encouragingly, mouthing the words, “Never mind her.” At the other side of the table, Gilli kept to himself, cutting into his rashers, reading from a notebook he kept open at his elbow.

“Obviously, I am also very sorry your uncle died,” Elena said, milk staining her lips. “That's too sad.”

“Thank you for your kind words.” Arthur stopped toying with his cup.

Helen came in before Elena and Arthur could continue that conversation; the former had changed into morning clothes, a black frilly blouse and a skirt made of quality wool. Her heels made no sound on the carpet; her face was a mask of contrition, though she looked as if she'd been long at her toilette, which had been elaborate. Her hair was half up, half down, in a complicated do that twisted about her head in tresses joined together in several fashions and her wrists smelled like expensive perfume. Her make up hid all the grief lining, all traces of worry and sleeplessness. To look at her you wouldn't have guessed she had just lost someone. But then Merlin knew that not everyone expressed their grief in the same way. Her being so composed was clearly in honour of her husband, whom Helen didn't want to let down, even in death. 

The members of the party watched her in silent sympathy, until she rallied and spoke. “While I'm glad you spent the night here safe and sound, I was wondering when you were going.”

“I'm staying of course,” Arthur said. “You'll want someone to be with you and help you with the funeral.” 

Helen's mouth slid slowly open as though she was surprised to hear Arthur was offering to take that duty upon himself. “That's very kind. But I don't want to impose upon you.” 

“I meant to stay a while anyway.” Arthur waved a hand. “Of course I'd anticipated spending that time with my uncle. But his death is not going to change my plans. I'm going to stand by my family.”

Gwaine said, 'I don't want to be a burden on you, Mrs Cornwall. Particularly at a time like this. As a matter of fact we meant to go early this morning. We were all but packed.” 

Elena nodded at this. She couldn't do more than that because her mouth was full, cheeks bulging.

Gwaine went on. “So with that in mind I took a stroll round the house. Let me be honest with you; we're to all intents and purposes snowed in.”

“What about the van bloke?” Arthur asked. 

“He didn't leave,” Helen said. “He's having breakfast with the servants.”

“I hope he moved the van though.” Arthur drank some coffee. “If he did, I can take my car somewhere else.”

“We have a garage.” Helen sipped at her tea. “There's a free spot. You can use it.”

Now that he was reminded of cars, Merlin thought about his. The poor old Dragon was likely to have been buried by reams of snow by now. Having spent a warm night here at the manor, he'd almost forgotten. But couldn't anymore. He'd better rescue the old Dragon before it rusted completely or got buried under. If it did, his Austin would only re-emerge with the thaw. “I'd better get my car back. In want to be on the road as soon as possible.”

Helen said, “We'll miss you, I'm sure. But needs must, of course. You must get on with your work.”

“Yes.” Merlin didn't want to be remiss. In his circumstances, his job came first. “It's an obligation, you see.”

“Hold your horses.” Arthur's face tightened. “Gwaine says he checked and that the roads are impassable and that he won't drive on yet. The same goes for Merlin. I won't have him facing this weather in that small car of his. It's too dangerous and in all honour I can't countenance it.”

“I see.” Helen's mouth went thinner. “I suppose we can wait till the afternoon. Then he can go.”

Arthur didn't seem too pleased with the reply. His face shuttered. His jaw clenched. He didn't say anything, however. He ate instead, in a way he hadn't before, showing meticulous care in the way he went about it, cutting his food into thin slices, and sampling various items from the sideboard. At length he spoke. “We should find out what happened to William. He's been gone a while and, as far as we know, he's knee-deep in the snow. Anything might have happened.” 

“I'll try and find Dr Fisher's number for you,” Helen told him. “He'll be able to tell you if he has any news of William.”

“Good.” Arthur met Helen's gaze. “I'd like to put my mind at ease on that score.”

“He'll be all right,” Helen said. “You'll see.”

“Is this William missing?” Elena went wide-eyed. “In that case I sincerely hope he's safely ensconced somewhere and not to out in this weather. Brrr.”

“Don't worry, Elena.” Gwaine smiled at her and in that smile there were both humour and reassurance. “The fellow will be fine. Just as we are.”

“My hospitality enabled you to feel safe, Mr Lothson,” Helen said. “But it has its limits, especially at a time like this, with a dead man in the house. I think you'll find yourself ready to be on your way this afternoon.”

Gwaine shared a glance with the rest of the company. “In that case I'll have to shovel the car free of snow.”

Though he was warm inside, or relatively so given the house's ancient plumbing, Merlin could imagine just how cold outside it was. He couldn't in all conscience let Gwaine go and dig out his car out all alone. Even though aware he'd have to do the same by his own vehicle sooner or later, and that he'd better conserve his strength, he said, “I'll help you.”

“Me too, naturally.” Arthur looked at Merlin as if wanting to reproach him for not speaking up for the both of them. “I would never leave a guest alone to fend for himself, whether he be mine or my uncle's.”

Helen sobbed at the mention of her husband. When she had all eyes on her, she said in an extremely broken voice, “I'll send Cedric along to help you. As for me, I'll retire. I need to sleep and recover from the blow.”

So saying, she stalked out of the room, dabbing at her eyes as she went.

Arthur, Merlin and Gwaine covered up with as many layers as they could manage and headed outside. Gilli stayed indoors on the pretence of having to arrange some notes he meant to pass on to Gwaine, facts that would be essential when it came to writing Elena's biography. Merlin didn't believe him one bit, but then again if he didn't make a point of good will, he wouldn't be trying to go outside at all either.

The trudge to Gwaine's car, which had stalled by the turnstile less than half a mile from the manor, was enough to give them a taste of the weather. By the time they'd got to Gwaine's Volvo, they were frozen to the core, with red noses and purple knuckles. 

With shovels they tried to dig out Gwaine's car. But for all their efforts they didn't move much snow. It kept submerging wheels and part of the chassis. When it seemed they'd freed the rear, the bonnet would sink into a mound of pristine snow. Even Cedric's arrival and disinterested and desultory contribution achieved very little. When it began snowing again, while whole flurries of the substance piling up on lanes and doorsteps, it became clear none of them would be going anywhere else. They were all stuck in the house of mourning.


	7. Chapter 7

Breakfast gave way to lunch, which they had all together in the great drawing room. The atmosphere was muted, with Helen talking of how good her late husband had been to her, how kind and generous. He'd always thought of her first, put her first. Perhaps because he wasn't experienced when it came to matrimonial matters, Gwaine didn't comment much. Elena did for him, sympathising with the widow, asking her thoughtful questions, and giving all her support. The duo in Elena's pay, kept out of the conversation for the most part, just suggesting how good marriage was to people. Grunhilda was especially adamant on the subject. It was clear to everybody she meant to suggest Elena should wed too.

“I feel like Elena should do what she likes.” Gwaine winked at her.

Elena giggled. “See, Grunhilda, Mr Lothson understands me very well.”

“It would be awkward if he didn't get you,” Gilli said. “Biographers should always have a full grasp of their subjects. ”

In the early afternoon Arthur asked Merlin out for a walk. Even if Merlin had had something to do here at the mansion, he would have dropped everything in order to have some conversation with Arthur. While he wasn't the only likeable person around, he was the one Merlin had more of a connection with. That didn't bear investigating now, not with Merlin having to go as soon the snow stopped long enough, but perhaps soon. Anyway a walk was something to look forward to, even though, weather not permitting, they couldn't go far.

“I'm really sorry for your loss, you know,” Merlin said as they walked one of the paths that rounded the back of the house. “I don't think I've said before, but I really meant to.”

“I'm coming to terms with it.” Arthur slipped his hands in his pockets and shrunk his shoulders. “But it wasn't good news.”

“I understand how it must feel.” Most of the time Merlin didn't like to think about it but now the thought just surfaced. “My dad died when I was little.”

Arthur did a double take. “I'm so sorry, Merlin.” He stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don't know how much.”

“It's old news.” Merlin didn't want to open that can of worms. It felt like it would make him too brittle. But he wanted to show Arthur solidarity.

“It doesn't make a difference, does it?” Arthur said, “the pain must always be the same.”

Arthur sounded like he knew what he was talking about and Merlin wanted to inquire further, but he wasn't sure it was his place. So he kept his own counsel. In reciprocal silence, they walked around the property, past the garages, where Arthur had moved his car, to the old stables, which were ill kept, and along a side path that flanked the main drive and was lined by tall trees. 

Their needles had got buried in snow together with their cones and scatterings of bark. Though he avoided all proper snow banks, Merlin's shoes sunk in the sludge, which was compact and came in hard packs. It was piercingly cold, and his feet curled against the sensation. He'd have needed a second pair of socks to make this walk comfortable. Yet he didn't want to go back into the house. 

He had a feeling Helen wanted to be rid of him and not just because she was currently in mourning and off people. It was not something he could put his finger on, but he sensed it strongly. In spite of Arthur's niceness and Gwaine and Elena's ability to chat his ear off, he didn't experience any sense of welcome. He'd rather brave the weather. If it had been reasonable at all, he'd have taken off, he'd have tried to start on his working day. But they were snowed in. And getting to his car would be a risky venture he didn't want to embark on.

At length they reprised talking; they did so without dwelling on any subject that might sadden them. Arthur didn't mention his uncle's passing and Merlin didn't revert to talking about his dad. They only discussed the things they liked. Merlin was into collecting post cards. He travelled so much, he said, he seldom got to be a proper tourist. Collecting those cards made him feel as he could be one, as if he could stay long enough to appreciate a place as it should be. Arthur, for his part, preferred open air sports. He was passable at tennis, he maintained, and played polo every once in a while. When in Europe, he liked skiing. France's slopes were his thing.

They'd reached the gates when they spotted a figure moving towards them from the road outside. It was a man wearing a coat and fedora, which he pressed to his scalp against the action of the wind. He had no baggage, no briefcase nor travelling bag, and his pace was shuffling because of all of the snow.

Given the weather conditions, Merlin and Arthur hurried over to him. 

“Do you need help?” Merlin called out.

“Are you lost?” Arthur asked, assuming the most reasonable explanation as to the man's presence on the drive.

“As a matter of fact.” The man looked at the gates, which were shut. “My car broke down a few miles south of here. I wandered the area in search of help. I was wondering if you could help me.”

“Of course,” Arthur said, though, as things stood, he couldn't have known whether Helen would agree. “You should come inside.”

“I'd be most grateful.” Though he was quite big in stature, the man made himself small against the elements. “I've been wishing myself somewhere warm these past four hours.”

Arthur and Merlin opened the gate for him and escorted him back to the manor, where they placed him in front of a fire. They furnished him with some warming brandy and a towel from the bathroom. “The name's Leon Ritter,” Leon said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

They all shook hands. 

“What are you doing in these parts, Leon?” Arthur asked. “This is no weather to be out.”

“My job.” Leon warmed his hands by the fire. They were a deep red, chafed, but little by little they went back to a normal pink colour. “I'm a commercial traveller.”

“Are you, really?” Merlin was already looking forward to sharing tales with his colleague, to finding out if they shared common impressions of people and places. “Who do you represent?”

“Oh, more than one company,” Leon said. Then narrowing his eyes, he added, “Why are you asking?”

Merlin touched his forehead to underline how forgetful he'd been. “Oh, I'm a travelling salesman too. I advertise medicinal products.”

“I see.” Leon pushed his armchair closer to the fire. “So why are you here?”

“Merlin's much in the same situation as you,” Arthur said. 

Merlin picked up on the conversation. “My car broke down a few miles from here. I spent the night here.”

“So it's just you two.” Leon pointed to the two of them.

Merlin and Arthur shared a glance. Merlin nodded at him. Arthur, was after all, the one related to the owner of the house and as such he should be the one to explain. Arthur inclined his head in return and, turning to Leon, spoke. “No, we're rather a large party.”

“Indeed.” Leon seemed to have thawed somewhat for he pushed the armchair back to its former position. “A large party?”

“Yes, there's my and un--” Arthur paled and bit his lip. “My aunt. A group of four just as stranded by the weather as you are. A poor driver whose van broke down and of course the servants.” Arthur looked around as though he might spot any of the two of them, though of course he didn't. Cedric and Cenred seemed to be quite errant and very eager to skirt their duties. “There are two of them.”

“You're right.” Leon hinted at a laugh. “I would too call this a large party.”

“I'd say the more the merrier,” Arthur said, “but for the fact this is a house of mourning.”

Leon's face tightened. His expression shadowed. His fist clenched. “Mourning?”

“My uncle died,” Arthur told him, his sad expression matching his tone. “It's quite recent.”

Leon stood up. In half a stride he was over to Arthur's, whose hand he shook. “My condolences.”

Arthur bobbed his head. He thanked Leon for his understanding and said it was quite a blow. Leon was all sympathy, telling a story about how he'd lost his aunt a few months previously. She was the one who always gave him sweets when he was little. She'd been a dear. Always knew what his favourites were. A stroke had taken her away. “But how did your uncle die?”

“Illness,” said Arthur, shaking his head. “He wasn't well.”

“I see,” said Leon. “So it wasn't sudden?”

“I dare say it both was and wasn't.” Arthur's gaze unfocused as he tried to make sense of this. “He'd been poorly, but not so much so one would have expected such a quick demise. His passing was a bit of a surprise.”

“To his wife too?”

“I'm sure that's the case.” Arthur cocked his head to the side. “Why the question?”

“Oh, nothing.” Leon waved the topic off. “It's just that it was so sudden with my aunt. I was wondering if that was like that here too.”

Arthur licked his lips. “I'll have to ask you not to put these questions to my aunt. She's very upset, naturally enough, and very fragile at present.”

“Of course,” Leon said, “I'd just be grateful for a room and some tea.”

“You'll have both.” Losing his cautionary air, Arthur smiled. “Of course. I bid you a solemn welcome to Tintagel Manor.”


	8. Chapter 8

They all had tea in the kitchen. In a bout of helpfulness Elena took off her rings and started rinsing the crockery necessary for the small meal. “I understand why the servants are missing in action,” she said, “this stuff looks like it's long needed a proper wash.” Merlin offered to help her, went so far as do undo his own cuffs, but she would have none of it and before long the kettle was on the range and steaming away mightily.

They were halfway into a store-bought apple crumble, when Cenred appeared. He had drunk, for his breath smelled like beer, but he was cheerier than usual, showing them card tricks worthy of a sharp and talking convivially about poker and other games. He recommended dives in London, which, Gilli said, should not be mentioned in front of a woman like Elena. “What am I? Carrion?” Grunhilda asked, and when all eyes turned to her, she glared openly. 

Before dinner and braced by the warming tea, Arthur, Merlin and Gwaine went about clearing the drive of snow, though Merlin and Arthur did most of the shovelling, while Gwaine sat on a low wall, directing their work and telling them stories about the world of journalism, some of his subjects, starlets and politicians, some of the famous people he'd met. They'd made some headway along the path, when it got so dark even working with lanterns became impossible.

Helen only joined them for dinner. She had changed into a black skirt and crepe shirt of the same colour. Her hair-do had changed too. Her hair was now loose, hanging on her shoulders in soft curls pinned at the temple by a hair ornament in the shape of a bird with glaring jewel eyes. 

The conversation turned to Gwaine's book and then to the subject of music. Though she made little attempt to take part in the conversation, Helen was drawn in by the others. Elena in particular wanted to know what kind of music she preferred. “I know you've mostly done classical, but I was wondering if there were any contemporary artists you were fond of. I know I adore Glenn Miller.”

“I suppose that's all very well and good for a young person like you,” Helen said as though she was on the contrary old and not a thirty-year old. “But I don't have a preference.”

“Oh, I see.” Elena's attempt at conversation had been thwarted, but she was apparently willing to try again. “Perhaps you have a favourite classical piece. From your repertoire?”

Helen's face darkened and got pinched. “What a question. I certainly don't know how to answer.”

“I see.” Elena blew out her cheeks.

“It's just such a trivial subject,” Helen said. “I wish it wasn't addressed in this house.”

With that dinner ended on a sour note. 

Merlin was too tired from all the shovelling to be able to stay downstairs much longer. He had a coffee with Arthur and Leon, Gwaine and Elena missing, and then called it a night. When the coffee was consumed, he made a dash for the stairs and his own room. Since they'd cleared the drive of snow with the grease of their elbow, he would only have to stay put one night longer. And then he could be rid of the weird atmosphere that permeated this place. If Arthur wasn't here, he wouldn't know what he'd do.

He'd just ensconced himself in his bedroom, lamenting its coldness, when there was a tap on the door. Arthur was standing on the other side of it, oil lamp in hand. “I know the drive's clear,” he said, “but I hope you won't go tomorrow before saying goodbye.”

Merlin laughed off key. “Who do you take me for? Of course I won't leave before seeking you out. I hope we're friends now.”

Arthur sidled. “I hope so too.”

“Well, then.” Merlin smiled. “You have my answer.”

Arthur's lips creased in return. “I'll leave you to it then. Should you be unable to sleep, feel free to knock on my door.”

Merlin cocked his head. “I will. Er, not that I'm not tired, but if I shouldn't be, I'll look for you for company.”

“Don't forget then.” Arthur turned around to walk away. Over his shoulders he said, “Third floor, third door on the right.”

Arthur mentioning sleeplessness somehow caused Merlin to really suffer from it. He was buried under two mounds of blankets and clad in pyjama flannels, but every time he closed his eyes, they opened again, his mind a-whirl with thoughts and impressions from the day. Outside, he heard the rest of the household move about, climbing upstairs to the creak of treads, talking to each other with Gwaine louder than most, shoes clacking as somebody tramped past his room. Guests traipsed to and from the bathroom and somebody cleared their throat.

Merlin kept listening even when he told himself not to, that it was time for some shut-eye, but he couldn't stop, especially when it got late enough and the house went quiet. He made a point of not looking at his watch, though the last reading pointed to 1.30 pm. 

Around this time the other night he'd heard the ominous thumping that had brought him upstairs and caused him to meet poor Arthur's uncle on his last day on earth. He still felt weird about that so perhaps it wasn't so strange that he couldn't fall asleep know, that he kept expecting the noise to be renewed. With Mr Cornwall dead, it couldn't possibly be, but human reactions to death could be strange, he told himself.

Half an hour later Merlin heard a gasping sound just outside his room, which was soon stifled, plunging the house back into silence. Without asking himself what the hell he was doing when he was supposed to be sleeping, Merlin leapt out of bed, put on slippers and, torch in hand, left his room. 

Shining it down the corridor, he swept the light beam this way and that. It fell upon a tall man whose face Merlin couldn't make out. Much like Merlin, he was wearing dressing gown and slippers, but he was facing the mezzanine. Before Merlin could recognise him, he disappeared past a bend in the corridor.

“Leon,” Merlin said on a hunch as to height, but the man didn't answer or come back at all. A bit at a loss what to do about it, Merlin went to the kitchen for some restorative hot milk. He had almost stepped inside it, when he heard voices, which stopped him from entering. One belonged to Helen, he was sure of it, the other was masculine, deep, and not entirely familiar. The door to the kitchen garden was open and some moonlight filtered through inside, but not enough to allow Merlin to identify Helen's companion. He heard the words: “Till tomorrow at least. You must be patient.” At which Merlin gasped. The sound he'd made had to have betrayed him, for Helen turned and searched the darkness, closing the door in the face of the man she'd been entertaining.

Turning off his torch, Merlin dove behind the lintel. Sure that he hadn't dreamed what he'd just seen, and before Helen could emerge from the kitchen and sight him, Merlin rushed upstairs, all the way up to the third floor, knocking repeatedly on the third door from the right.

A sleep-ruffled Arthur opened the door. His hair stood on end and his face showed pillow creases. He smiled when, in a few heartbeats, he realised who was there. He took a step forward and kissed Merlin lightly and softly on the lips, his hand cradling Merlin's jaw.

Merlin's heart stopped right in his chest in one painful bump. Surprise stirred his blood and took his breath. Although stunned at the development, he kissed Arthur back with equal enthusiasm and for the longest time until at last he remembered why he was there at all. Not that an assignation wouldn't have been pleasant, but Arthur needed to know what was going on. Even in his kiss-addled state, Merlin was aware of the importance of his sighting. “Arthur, I saw someone.”

Arthur took a step back and let him enter. “What?”

“I heard noises,” Merlin said, needing to convey his urgency. “I went to check and I saw him.”

“So you've come about this.” Arthur's shoulders collapsed and his lips pressed together in a pout. “I see.”

“Yes.” Merlin was quite nervous about all these events. They didn't bode well and Arthur must be made aware. “We need to talk.”

Arthur sat on his bed. “So talk,” he said, gesturing wildly.

For privacy Merlin closed the door behind him and moved into the room so he was standing in front of Arthur. “I think I recognised the person I saw, though I can't be sure because I didn't see his face.”

“I gather it was a man.”

“Yes.” Merlin nodded vigorously. “I think it was Leon.”

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together. “Perhaps he was looking for the bathroom.”

“Then why didn't he answer when I called for him?” There was something about this that really didn't fit. Merlin had more than a hunch by now. “It's so strange.”

“Well.” Arthur's shoulders rounded as they lifted. “He seems like a nice person. I'm sure his reason for being up and about was entirely benign.”

Merlin had had the same impression of Leon, but he wasn't convinced it was as Arthur said. “There's something going on here. Just do me a favour and question Leon tomorrow.”

Arthur sat staring ahead, his hands locked together between his knees. He didn't seem upset at Merlin's news, but he wasn't in a relaxed mood either. He kept looking at Merlin out of wide eyes, reddening and then looking away, only to start again with the staring. 

“You might think I'm nuts, but all these comings and goings aren't normal.” Merlin had an inkling of what normal was and this wasn't it. “Your aunt won't like it any more that I do.”

“You're right there,” Arthur conceded. “I think she wants us all out of her house.”

Merlin bit his lip but then spoke all the same. He trusted Arthur, and if he couldn't be honest about his impressions, then what was the point of their new friendship? “Are you sure it's hers?”

Arthur tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

God knew Merlin didn't want to put his half-formed suspicions into words but something about Helen Cornwall was starting to rub him the wrong way. “How can we be sure there's no will? How can we be sure your uncle intended to leave you nothing?”

Arthur laughed a short laugh. “He was happily married. Why would he leave his wife nothing?”

Merlin could think of reasons. “Have you ever spoken to him about it?”

“We never discussed money.” Looking into the distance, Arthur shrugged. “It wasn't like him.”

“But he liked you.” Merlin had certainly gathered as much from the letter Mr Cornwall had written his nephew. “He was fond of you.”

“I'm sure he was,” Arthur said, a little bug-eyed at the drift of Merlin's words. “But that doesn't mean he'd have cut off his wife.”

Merlin took a big, dizzying breath before speaking. “What if your uncle didn't die naturally?”

Arthur did not move. He kept sitting there, looking at Merlin as if he'd grown a second head. Then he reached for the side table and poured himself a whisky, which he downed in one go. “Have you any proof to back up what you're saying?”

This was so serious Merlin couldn't help but being honest about it. “I've nothing definite to go on. Nothing a reasonable person would construe as evidence.” Let alone the police. “I've been shutting the idea down all evening, but...” Having run out of breath and most of his courage, he tailed off. When Arthur looked at him as if he wanted him to continue, Merlin said, “but I suspect your aunt.”

Arthur toyed with his now empty glass. “But how?” He frowned at the lack of contents. “She's not that massive of a woman and my uncle was much bigger, taller.”

“But also somewhat ill.” Merlin didn't enjoy having a ready answer. 

“You really think--” Arthur stopped himself before glancing at Merlin. “You really think she could have done away with him?”

“I don't know.” There was a chance Helen was innocent and Merlin had misconstrued it all. “But if there was a will, or if your uncle wanted to change his current one, then I could imagine her capable of conceiving a plan involving his death.”

“I don't believe it.” Arthur moved his head from side to side in a motion of denial. “She's family. I ought to protect her, not besmirch her good name.”

“Arthur, think about it,” Merlin said. “Your uncle was ill, but I saw him right before he died and he didn't look too badly off to me. Plus, he died right after sending you a letter asking for you to come and get someone to tag along. Don't wills require witnesses? Since his death, Helen's been very keen on getting rod of her guests, though the weather keeps putting a spoke in her wheel.” Merlin knew he'd forgotten something. “Besides I heard your aunt talking to a man outside the kitchen, and it all sounded very underhanded. If it was one of the guests, why hide? And if it wasn't, who was she talking to in the dead of night? And William Daira. Where is he? Where was he the night Mr Cornwall passed, when your uncle was reportedly so unwell?”

“He must have been up and about in the house.” Arthur's expression was growing more and more appalled. “And he's gone looking for the doctor.”

“A doctor who's been fetched but who failed to appear.” Merlin wasn't sure when exactly William left the house and he didn't know the doctor's address, but even so William had been away too long. “It's been more than a day, Arthur. Where does this doctor live, eh?”

“I assumed he was snowed in.” Arthur's mouth didn't close with his last word.

“Maybe.” Merlin had to concede the point. “But it's still suspicious.”

“I can't deny it.” Arthur paced up and down. “But I'm not ready to accuse a family member on so flimsy a basis.”

“Of course not.” Who was Merlin, after all, to put himself between Arthur and his relations? Nobody, that was the answer. He'd overstepped quite a few boundaries here and he was sure he'd lost Arthur's good opinion. It was a pity because Merlin really would have loved exploring the feelings he thought existed between them. That kiss in the doorway had been the sweetest he'd ever had. If it wasn't for the strange goings on, he would have made more of it. Except, in good conscience, he had had to speak about the events he'd witnessed. “I understand.”

“We'll keep an eye on the household.” Arthur rolled his shoulders as though to work a tension knot out of them. “On all the guests. We only have their word as to their story. Even Leon. He might have been lurking around well before he actually turned up. But I promise you, Merlin, if it's my aunt....” He made balls of his fists. “If it's my aunt, I'll make sure the police will know of it.”

With that promise and accompanied by thoughts of that kiss, Merlin retired back to his room. He didn't want to believe his hostess was an actual murderess, but he couldn't refrain from being suspicious of her. On those grounds he turned the key in the lock. Better safe then sorry. What if she'd made him out as he'd eavesdropped back in the kitchen? He wanted to be sure she didn't take her revenge out on him.

On impulse, he went to the window, drew back the curtains and peered out. The night was dark, still and heavy with silence. Out in the grounds he could make out tree clusters but not much else. He couldn't see if any one was lurking, hiding some evil intent. He couldn't tell whether any danger gathered in the darkness. He wished it was dawn, so he could see clearly, and understand what was what.

He was moving away from the window, when his attention fixed itself on a pin-point of light that hadn't been there before. It wasn't moonlight. It wasn't a headlight from afar. The park was too sheltered for that, the drive a couple of miles from the main road. It was bobbing up and down like a light on a rowing boat. For a while, he studied it, trying to establish what it was. It looked like the glow of a lantern dimmed by the veil of fog and cloud.

He wanted to go to Arthur again and alert him to this but the notion that by the time he reached him the light would, in all probability, have gone, stayed him. He considered investigating himself. But he wouldn't do it at night. It was too cold, too dark, and perhaps the light was a source of danger. Perhaps the man talking to Helen earlier in the kitchen was behind it. On the other hand, maybe it was harmless; maybe it belonged to a poacher. 

Letting the curtain fall back into position, he yawned, and put out the lantern for the night, groping his way to bed. Forgetting the cares of the day was wonderful, and, wrapped in warmth as he was, with the quilt up to his chin, erasing his suspicions felt easy. Before long he was asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Merlin avoided breakfast in the morning room. He wanted to see Arthur and talk to him about the latest events. He hoped that maybe they could discuss that kiss they'd shared too. He didn't know in what order he would try and address these topics, he just knew that he meant to. But he also wished to avoid Helen, until at least he'd cleared her of all suspicion. So instead of making for that room, he directed his steps towards the kitchen. He took some food – ham and cheese and an apple – and started for the garden table outside when he heard a noise coming from the shed.

Leaving the food untouched on the table, Merlin trudged towards the shed. No noise issued from it. Sure that he'd dreamed the sound he'd heard or that an animal had caused it, he turned away from the structure. No sooner had he done it, than the noise reprised. Someone --or something -- was thudding against the shed door. 

“What the hell is that?” he said, touching the door with his palm. The wood vibrated under it. “Is anyone in there?”

A muffled din answered.

Merlin needed to see through this. An animal might be trapped inside the shed. Since there were no wolves in the area, it was probably safe to risk opening the door. But if a person was lurking inside, opening might be dangerous, especially with all the strange happenings at the manor. Helen had been talking to someone yesterday, not the wind, and that light in the darkness had had to originate somewhere. “Is anyone in there?”

The voice bubbled up again. It said no words but sounds of distress were clearly intelligible. 

“Right.” Merlin had to do something. He might end up ruing it, but he couldn't live with the notion he hadn't helped if anyone was actually in danger. “Let's try and open this door.”

He tried the handle first, but the door was locked by a padlock. Unless he went up to Helen and asked for a key, there was no way he would open this door the way it was meant to. Bending over, he took a stone from the flower bed and hit the padlock with it. It didn't give way, but whoever was on the other side heard the fracas and started making a racket of their own. This encouraged Merlin to try again. 

With more force, he struck the padlock with the stone. This time the padlock broke. Taking it off, Merlin opened the door. It was dark inside the shed, with barely any light filtering in from without. But the man standing there was unmistakable. He was tall and lanky, wearing a patchy beard that was days in the making. His figure stooped.

“Are you all right?” Merlin said, taking a step into the darkness.

The man mumbled.

Merlin advanced further into the shed. By the feeble light making it inside he saw that the man was bound in thick ropes and gagged with a monogrammed kerchief. Dried blood thickened in crusts at the side of his brow and stained his wrists where the cords cut in. Alarmed, Merlin moved over to the man and freed him from the gag. The letters stamped on the kerchief he removed were and M and C, he noticed before pocketing the strip of cloth. “My god, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, god knows how, but I am.”

Merlin wanted to get the poor man out of the shed. He surely needed light and fresh air, as well as some restoratives. But he was afraid Helen would see him. Would see them both. Before he knew who this man was and why he'd been detained in the shed, he couldn't risk that however. “Pardon me, but how did you end up in this situation?”

“I was attacked,” the man told him as he tried extricating himself from the ropes that bound him. “I can't believe someone in this house did this to me!”

“In this house?” Merlin knew that implied this man belonged to the household. Filled with an inkling, he asked, “Who are you?”

“My name's William Daira,” William said. “I'm--”

“Mr Cornwall's valet, yes, I know.” Merlin undid a knot. “You said you were assaulted. Can you tell me how?”

Upper body unrestricted, William bent over to undo the ties at his ankles. “It was two nights ago, or perhaps three.” William got a crease on his brow. “Anyway Mrs Cornwall told me I had the night off. That she would sit with Mr Cornwall herself.” Now that he was unbound, William straightened. “I saw no ill in it. I'd been with the master most nights for the past two months anyway.” Massaging his wrists, he sat down on the bench lining the shed. “So I went out for a bit early in the evening, had a walk round the property. But it was so cold outside I soon thought better of it.”

Merlin wished William would tell his story faster. If the wrong people found him, his freedom might not be long-lived. “What happened next?”

Continuing to soothe his chafed limbs, William spoke. “I went back inside the house. Climbed back towards the master's bedroom.” William paused and wiped the blood at his temple. “And then someone hit me over the head with some kind of heavy object.”

Merlin seethed. That could have maimed him for good. They could have killed him. That was the purpose, he feared. “Do you know who it was?”

“The same man who's come and kept a watch over me these past two days.” William looked up at Merlin. 

“Can you name him?” With a name, he and Arthur could go to the police. Surely by now the roads had cleared enough to allow them to get to the closest constabulary. 

“He attacked me from behind,” said William, with a mournful air about him. “And he had a balaclava on all the time he was with me.”

Merlin's shoulders fell. “Oh.”

“But I swear his voice was familiar.” William stroked his chin. “He kept changing it, speaking very low and gruff, but I'm sure I've heard his tones before.”

That figured. Someone in this house was breaking the law and if they had attacked William and kept him in the shed for days, it was fair to assume that the death that had taken place inside the house wasn't natural either. “So you were here all the time?”

“Yes, gagged and bound.” There was rage in William's eyes. “I tried calling out, but no one heard me.”

It was only normal. With this cold nobody would loiter by the kitchen garden shed, Merlin reckoned. If it hadn't been for his avoidance tactics, he wouldn't have been there either. In summer it would have been quite another matter entirely. But it wasn't summer, and whoever had imprisoned William must have relied on that. “I'm sorry that happened to you.” Merlin let that sink in, hoping it would comfort William a little. “So I gather you never went looking for the doctor?”

“Doctor?” William's brow got weighed down by multiple lines. “Why should I get the doctor?”

Obviously enough William had no knowledge of what had happened after his kidnapping. He didn't know that Mr Cornwall had died and that Helen had said he'd gone out to fetch the doctor. All of that was news to him. Merlin had no idea how to break it to him gently. “Mr Cornwall--” He cleared his throat. He supposed there was nothing for it but steaming ahead. “Mr Cornwall died the night you were attacked.”

William considered this for several seconds; then his face hardened. “Someone must have done him in, sir.” He moved his head from side to side in clear denial. “He was all right last I saw him.”

“I thought so too--” Merlin dragged him forwards. “Someone has murderous intentions here. This house is not safe for you. We'd better hide you.”

“Hide me where?”

Merlin didn't answer that question. He went to the door of the shed and looked outside. There was no one in the garden and, in spite of the milky fog, all lights in the kitchen were off. It seemed good enough. “Come.” He grabbed William by the sleeve. “We must be quick.”

Though William leant on him for support, which was completely understandable considering how much time he'd spent in a cramped position, he managed to cross the garden at acceptable speed. Next they went through the kitchen, which was empty. Merlin had never been so grateful for lazy servants before. Not that he generally had opinions on that class of people. Crossing it, they took the service stairs. It was a risk; they might run into Cenred or Cedric. But it was better than facing Helen. Once they were out of the stairwell, they made for the third floor corridor. They came from the wrong end of it, but Merlin supported William all the way to the other side. With both his fists, Merlin knocked on the door.

When Arthur opened, it was a relief. He'd hadn't gone downstairs hunting for breakfast! In fact, he wore a dressing gown and slippers and had clearly just woken. “What's all this uproar?”

Merlin pushed William into the room and closed the door behind them. Once they were safe from anyone's eyes, he said, “This is William, your uncle's valet.” He touched William's shoulder. “He's been held in the shed all this time.”

“Yes,” William said, helping explain. “Someone jumped me.”

“Who was it?” Arthur's mind went to the same issue Merlin's had.

“He doesn't know.” Merlin saw William sway and helped him into Arthur's bed.

“I only know it was a man who did it,” William said, as he pulled the covers to his chin.

“So it wasn't my aunt!” A flash of relief showed in Arthur's eyes. “That's--”

Merlin really appreciated Arthur's penchant for supporting his family in all circumstances, but he thought it didn't really apply in this case. Loath as he was to unveil the truth, he had no other choice. “You're forgetting something--” It seemed obvious to Merlin, but he got why Arthur failed to see it, loyalty. “She lied about where William was.”

“She said he'd gone to summon the doctor. I remember that clearly,” Arthur said. “She might have assumed he was on the road without knowing he was being held prisoner. That frees her of guilt.”

“She didn't--” Merlin recalled that exchange well. “She said she knew where he was, that he'd gone in spite of her cautioning him against it.”

The light in Arthur's eyes dimmed. “She might have said something like that.”

“She did.” Merlin had been there and as such he was a witness. “She invented interactions with William that never took place. She never assumed he'd gone, she made up a story to cover his absence and that means she was an accomplice of the man who took William out.”

Arthur pressed a hand against his forehead. He paced the room and cursed under his breath. “There's no other thing for it. We need to contact the police at once.”

As Merlin tended to William, pressing a wet handkerchief to his forehead, Arthur dressed. Merlin made a point of not looking, allowing him his privacy. But if he had to be honest with himself, he avoided gazing because of how much he wanted to, how the action would bring a blush to his cheeks and heat to his face. 

When Arthur was ready, they left the room, telling William to stay inside and lock himself in. They warned him not to open to anyone but them. They invented a secret knock made up of three rapid raps followed by a scratching sound. If William didn't hear that, he was to stay barricaded in. They would be back soon.

“We won't use the main door so as not to alert my aunt,” Arthur said, as he got down the stairs. “We'll go through the morning room's French windows.”

“What if they're having breakfast in there?” 

“They aren't.” Arthur's jaw set. “It's too late for that.”

It was a risk. If Helen was about, then they'd lose the element of surprise. But choosing the main doors would be more damning and the back entrance could potentially be manned by the servants, who reported to their mistress. They had to take one route; they could only hope it was the right one.

Unfortunately, the room was occupied. Elena and Grunhilda were there, Grunhilda knitting, Elena at the sideboard by the door, pouring herself some coffee, which was still steaming in spite of being a left over from breakfast. A pencil in hand, Gwaine was at the table, a notebook before him. When he wasn't looking at Elena, he was filling it with tiny scrawled words.

Merlin and Arthur said their good mornings and made for the French windows, hoping no one would question their actions, hoping they'd assume they were out for a walk round the park.

They'd opened the door, when Helen came in, her bag under her arm. Before Merlin and Arthur could understand the incongruity of such an object being paraded indoors or slip out, she'd taken a small gun from it. She pointed it right at them.


	10. Chapter 10

“Whoa, lady,” Gwaine said, when he looked up from his writing to see the gun Helen was holding, “put that away!”

“I'm afraid not.” Helen steadied her aim. “No one move or they'll end up with a hole in their body.”

Merlin and Arthur looked to each other, subtly nodding at one another. They weren't trying anything stupid, not with their collective safety on the line.

Dropping her knitting, Grunhilda held both hands up. “Oh lord.”

Eyes rounding, Elena froze with her cup on her way to her lips.

Arthur's hand twitched by his side.

Hand tilting, Helen shot, barely weathering the recoil. The clock hanging to the side of the window detached itself from the nail that secured it to the wall. It fell, glancing off Arthur's head. A gash opened on his temple and he folded over, sprawling on the floor before Merlin could catch him. 

In spite of Helen still having her gun, Merlin went to his knees by Arthur's side.

Arthur had his eyes closed and his mouth open, blood spurting in rivulets from a deep cut that had opened on his temple. His breathing was steady though. That was something. Though, on second thoughts it didn't mean much if Arthur's heart wasn't also behaving properly. Irrespective of Helen's threats, Merlin checked his pulse, and satisfied it was there, he cradled Arthur to him. Seeing him pale and drawn, completely knocked out, worked a sense of fear inside Merlin. Fear that Arthur may be seriously injured, fear that he'd wasted his chance to be something more to Arthur, fear they wouldn't get out of this alive either. “Have you any idea what you have done?” he asked Helen. “If he dies, that's murder.”

Tossing her head back, Helen laughed. “As if I haven't killed before.”

“Do you think any judge will be lenient if you have two murders on your head?” Merlin didn't know how to persuade a killer to abandon their ways, so he was just trying to distract Helen, hoping she wouldn't shoot again.

“You're making a mistake, dear,” Helen said, righting her hold on her weapon. “You think I'll be arrested. I count on avoiding capture.”

Merlin didn't want to scare her into shooting, but he didn't want to have her lord it over them either. Perhaps if her attention was elsewhere, he could do something. He didn't know what or how, but it would come to him at some point or other. “You might for a while.” Merlin had to be a realist here. “But justice will catch up with you.”

“I bet you that it won--”

From her position at her side, Elena splashed her hot coffee on Helen's wrist. Scalded, Helen dropped the gun.

Arthur groaned but didn't move.

Trying to make a grab for Helen, Elena dived forward. She didn't catch Helen, who sprinted forward, stooping low to get back at the gun. Seeing that more effort was needed on her part, Elena kicked the gun away. It skittered across the floor and ended up under a dresser. Without a weapon, Helen shrieked and hared towards the other pair of French windows.

Moaning in pain, Arthur sat up just as she'd slipped between them. 

Merlin was torn between staying by Arthur's side and going after Helen. On the one hand Arthur had just received a blow to the head and needed his assistance; on the other if Helen escaped she might really flee justice. After being threatened at gunpoint, he had no intention of letting her go. 

“We must stop her!” Arthur said as he raked himself up. “We can't let her go!”

Merlin was not convinced Arthur could stand on his own two feet. “Arthur, you're in no state to pursue her!”

“I'm not letting the murderer of my uncle go free,” he said, darting after her.

Merlin had no choice. He had to go with Arthur because he couldn't do it all alone, not after the hit he'd taken to the head. So he sprinted after, slipping between the French doors and taking the garden at a run.

Helen was heading towards the garage and Arthur loped after her, his elbows down, his feet dragging, failing to run in a straight trajectory. Damn, but that hit had really done a number on him. With a sprint, Merlin put less distance between himself and Helen, overtaking Arthur. But Helen had ditched her heels and was now hurtling towards the garage doors at cannon ball speed. 

Flinging the garage doors wide, Helen dove into her car, a sporty red Allard two seater, and behind the wheel. Engine purring, she set the car in motion. It gained speed right out of the garage and made for Arthur.

Clocking the vehicle, Arthur leapt to the side just as Merlin shouted his name. He hit the ground a few yards left of the Allard. As Merlin streaked closer, he got up, so Merlin didn't stop to check how he was, but raced towards the garage instead. Arthur's car sat in the spot left of the Allard's. Hoping Arthur had left the keys inside, Merlin took his place behind the wheel.

“I want to drive,” Arthur told him. “This is my car.”

“Well, tough luck.” Merlin wasn't about to cede his place. “You just got hit over the head. I'm not going to let you drive.”

Merlin tried the ignition but the car coughed its way into engine failure. It sputtered like an old ailing man on his last breath. “What! No! You can't do this to me!”

“Merlin, you'll find that if you lift your foot off the clutch and press down on the accelerator, the car will start.”

“I know how to drive a car, numbskullish prat!” Merlin had started working as a commercial traveller when he was nineteen. His second job ever. He'd been in cars ever since. He knew a thing or two about them. “Someone did something to the engine!”

“What do you mean someone did something to the engine?”

It seemed rather obvious to Merlin. “Someone tampered with it, that's what I mean.”

“But it's impossible,” Arthur said, widening both eyes in horror of the notion. “The car has been in the garage all the time.”

Merlin needed to explain this as quickly as possible. In small words probably. “We're in a killer's household, Arthur. Not even the garage is safe.”

“You mean...” Arthur's jaw slackened progressively.

“I saw lights the other night,” Merlin said, head hitting the steering wheel as he made the connection. How stupid he'd been not to guess. “I couldn't tell what it was. But now I know. It was someone stealing here in the garage, working to sabotage your car.”

“So what do we do now?” Arthur asked. “We can't let her go.”

“I don't know.” Merlin's own Austin was miles away, buried in snow. Gwaine's car was closer but it was mired in a snow bank as well. That left...

“The van.” Arthur slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “The delivery van that could never leave because of all that snow.”

They both flung themselves out of Arthur's car and raced back towards the house. In front of it and to the side the van was parked. It had never been moved, thank God. Not about waste time trying to get permission from its driver, Merlin tried the front door and it opened. Arthur climbed into the passenger's seat.

There was no key in the ignition. It would have been too easy.

“Try under the visor,” Arthur said.

When Merlin pulled down the flap, the keys came tumbling into his lap. Merlin stuck them into the ignition and pressed the clutch. 

He started at speed. Since they'd wasted so much time in Arthur's Talbot, he couldn't see the Allard, but that didn't mean it wasn't ahead somewhere. When they cleared the first section of the drive, they, in fact, spotted the car at the end of the access road, right where the gates were.

“She'll have to stop,” Arthur said, holding onto the grab handle as Merlin sped after the Allard. “Get off the car and open the gates. That's when we'll nab her.”

But the car didn't stop. It drove right into the gates, crashing them open. It barely slowed and was on the main road without any glitch.

Merlin whistled.

Arthur said, “Well, I wasn't expecting that one.”

“At least we won't have to stop either.”

The road that took to and from the manor was winding at first so the Allard didn't have much of an advantage over the van. If she wanted to stay in her lane, Helen had to do some careful steering, which slowed her down. But the moment the road surface straightened and widened, she left them behind in a cloud of exhaust fumes. 

“Floor that accelerator, Merlin!” Arthur said when they saw the Allard disappear.

Merlin ground his teeth together. “What do you think I'm doing?” Really Arthur was something else with all his critiquing. “This is a van, not a racer.”

Though they couldn't catch a glimpse of the Allard, they chugged on on the road. The scenery careered past them, non-descript, blurry, because of the speed they were going at. Only the glimmer of white generated by the snow that still decked it made the landscape remarkable. 

The pursuit continued without incident until Merlin had to veer sharply to avoid hitting a sheep that had wandered past the fences cutting off the fields. Once they were clear of it – with the sheep bleating as if nothing had happened – Merlin breathed in relief. If they'd hit it, he'd have had it on his conscience and he wouldn't have liked that. Besides, it would have slowed them down too, which was the last thing they needed. 

By daylight this road was much different than it had been when Merlin had first come to the manor. All the curves and straight segments seemed to be in different places. So he had to watch out as he speeded, something he had to do if he wanted to overtake the fast roadster. Even if Arthur didn't shut his mouth for one instant, cursing and mumbling to himself, all of Merlin's attention was on the track ahead. After all, they had to catch Helen. 

When the first sign for the motorway appeared, Merlin felt panic clench his gut. If Helen got there, she could drive wherever she wanted and lose pursuit. Once she'd shaken them off, she could ditch the car and steal a second one. Provided she'd taken a few measures, like having money and false papers on her, they would never track her again. 

“Not all's lost,” Arthur told him, as though he'd guessed what Merlin had been thinking. “There's a shortcut not far from here. It rejoins the road a little south of Valley of Fallen Kings.”

“That's close to where my car is.”

“Yes, if we use it--” Arthur's eyes sparked. “--we can gain some five miles.”

Eyes on the road, Merlin frowned. “But what if she knows it too?”

Arthur flattened his hand in the air in a gesture negating the suggestion. “She hasn't been married to my uncle long. I don't think she went exploring. I only know of this shortcut because of my childhood trips here. I bet she doesn't even suspect it exists.”

“I hope so,” Merlin said, as he took the path question.

The shortcut was narrow and serpentine, cutting across snow-covered hilly ground, trees growing thickly on either side of it. There was no sign of any other vehicle, neither cars nor tractors, not even carts. It was just a track that was getting smaller and smaller the further they pushed on, the vegetation closing in on all sides. 

Merlin sincerely hoped Arthur remembered it all correctly; that he hadn't make a mistake in suggesting they follow this track. Even if his recollections were not misleading them, that didn't mean the path ahead still ended where it had during Arthur's childhood. Road works happened all the time. If the route had changed, they could be ending up somewhere else entirely.

“There,” Arthur said, once they'd come upon the end of the short cut. “That's her car.”

Indeed it was, a red roadster with bright paint and shiny new hubcaps, a woman with dark hair at the wheel. Since he'd last seen it, the car had acquired a few chassis bumps, a clear sign or reckless driving, but it was otherwise the same.

“Go faster!” Arthur turned towards him to say.

“I'm in top gear.” Merlin was stamping on the accelerator too. “There's not much I can do.”

“We must overtake her!”

“Easier said than done.” This van wasn't built like that. Merlin couldn't perform miracles.

They weren't even lucky enough to avoid detection, for Helen had tipped her head up and looked into the rear-view mirror. She had to have caught a glimpse of them, for the Allard went faster, careering down the road at a speed the van couldn't equal.

Merlin hoped and prayed against a straight at the same time. The absence of curves would help him avoid braking, causing him to acquire speed. But the same would be true for Helen. Gifted with a more powerful car as she was, there was no doubt she would leave them in the dirt.

The road went up and then down and the van jostled, nearly flying over bumps and potholes. When the wheels got traction they soon lost it, because of the icy patches coating the asphalt. Still, Merlin kept at it, sweat pouring into his eyes, heartbeat in his mouth, field of vision narrowing to the red Allard ahead.

“Watch out,” Arthur shouted when Merlin lost control of the van and ended up in the other carriageway, barely avoiding a silver Ford Anglia, before making it back to his own side of the road. 

When Merlin looked ahead again, the Allard was much farther, eating the road, which bent sharply at a sixty degree angle.

“Brake!” Arthur grabbed his elbow as Merlin changed down the gears.

Just when it seemed the van wouldn't slow but fly ahead in a straight line, it decelerated and negotiated the bend. 

The Allard, however, whisked past them in a cloud of exhaust, proceeding in a linear path that drove it past the guard rail and into the abyss that opened under the stretch of tarmac. 

At the shoulder Merlin stopped the van. Both he and Arthur raced toward the drop, the Valley of the Fallen Kings. It was a hundred feet deep and at the bottom of it lay the Allard, its roof dipping in, the side stuck against a tree trunk. Before they could so much as try to take the path down, the car went up in a ball of flames.

 

*****

They watched the flames reach for the sky; heard the crackling of the fire enveloping the Allard even from the road above the escarpment. Once they'd found some branches to cling to, they managed to slide down towards it, but when they got to the burning car, the heat was intense, the flames a wall, and they couldn't approach it at all. They'd seen the body by then, though, and knew Helen was past all saving. Climbing back up, they observed the grey smoke climb from chassis to sky.

They were covering their mouths with their elbows so as not to breathe in the fumes, when a car pulled up. It was a blue police car with sign and siren. Behind the wheel was a constable, flanked by another. In the back sat Cenred, with a thundery face, and another man. Merlin only recognised him when he got out of the car. Before he pressed his fedora to his skull, Merlin saw that it was Leon.

“Leon!” Merlin and Arthur said at the same time.

Leon looked down at the hollow the car had stuck itself in. “I see we've arrived too late.”

“You called the police!” Arthur gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I'm afraid, though, they won't have anyone to arrest.”

“Um, I'm the police,” Leon said, showing them his warrant card. “And we had someone to arrest.” He shifted so they could see the man in the police car. “Cenred King.”

“Wait, wait,” Arthur said. “I don't understand.”

“It's no coincidence I ended up at your house.” Leon sighed as though pre-emptively tired of the explanation that would have to follow. “We were investigating the murder of Mr Fisher King, the industrialist, when we realised his wife had disappeared.”

Merlin was utterly confused. He didn't understand any of this. Leon was police? Why hadn't he told them? What had he been doing at Tintagel manor? What had that to do with a tycoon and his vanished wife? And there was a sea of other questions. The most compelling of which he was about to ask now. “What has Helen got to do with Mr King?”

“She was Mr King's wife,” said Leon. “Though she married him under a false name.”

“A false name?” Arthur pushed up an eyebrow.

“Oh Miss Helen Moira, later Mrs King, later still Mrs Cornwall.” Leon nodded at Arthur here. “--wasn't really ever Helen Moira, or a singer for that matter.” As he talked on he patted down his tie. “She was Mary Collins, and Mr Cenred Essetir's fiancée.”

“She was the butler's partner?” Arthur asked, jaw coming unglued. “I don't get it.”

“Mary and Cenred were about to marry.” Leon looked from Arthur to Merlin as if to check they'd got the story so far. “But realised they were down and out. Their life wouldn't be the dream life they 'd dreamed of. They could have made do, but decided they'd rather go for a life of crime. See, they found out Collins looked a lot like a certain famous singer.”

Merlin thought he understood. “So what, she stole her identity?”

“She killed her and took on her persona,” Leon said, correcting Merlin's naïve assumption that the bona fide Helen still lived. “She looked so much like the real Moira nobody questioned it.”

“What!” Arthur's brow crinkled. “Not even her family?”

Before Leon could speak a commotion started in the car, with Cenred clearly wanting to get out of it. The constables got out and flanked the side Cenred was sitting on. At first Cenred yelled in their faces, clamouring to be let out. He wanted to know what had happened. Needed to be told. Coppers were scum. At more than one reprise the bobbies spoke to him. When they got him quiet, Leon started talking again. “Helen had no family. And Mary was careful not to cross paths with her acquaintances. She retired Helen and made sure she wouldn't sing anymore, cutting ties with her agent and cancelling events she was booked to perform.”

Merlin could see how it had gone down. If she'd been careful, she would have made it. She must have walked a very thin line, however. One misplaced word, one intimate meeting with a former friend of the real Helen would have put paid to all her efforts. But she must have been lucky, at least until the very end, for no one had been the wiser. “That's when she married Mr Fisher, I gather.”

“Yes,” Leon said. “That's the timeline. Her and Mr Essetir had by then conceived of a terrible plan. Have Helen marry the rich old man, a former fan of the real opera singer, a fellow gratified by the star's new interest in him, and kill him off once all rumours surrounding the wedding were put to rest. Once they were safe from prying eyes, they did off with Mr Fisher.”

“Could the police not do anything to stop her?” Arthur's face was tight. 

“She used poison and nothing could be proven at the coroner's inquest.” Leon met Arthur's gaze squarely. “We all did our jobs but there was no way we could have pegged the murder on either Mary or Cenred. We hadn't even realised about the identity theft yet.”

“So you've been tracking her since.” Merlin could only conclude that.

“Yes, we have.” Leon tipped his hat. 

“Why didn't you save my uncle?” A vein in Arthur's temple twitched. “If you'd uncovered the Moira scam, then you knew she was dangerous.”

Leon bowed his head, backtracked a few steps, and rattled a sigh. “The first time around, she only acted after she'd been married two whole years. To make the union seem genuine so no one could suspect her. We thought we had time to frame her.”

“But you came and passed yourself off as a guest.” Arthur raked his hands through his hair, looking at the flames and then sharply away. “You knew what she'd done then. Why couldn't you be there a few days sooner?”

“I wasn't mean to be there at all. We were supposed to wait in the wings till we had all the evidence.” Leon was being called by his colleagues, who needed him to tame Cenred, but he waved them off, and continued addressing Arthur. “But your uncle sent a letter to his lawyer in London.”

“You intercepted it!” Merlin thought something like that must have happened or Leon's presence couldn't be explained away.

“Um, no, that's illegal.” Leon blushed above the edges of his beard. “But we suspected what it was about. So we had the house watched. When Mr Pendragon came--” Leon's glance flitted over Arthur. “We assumed Mr Cornwall had got whiff of something and had acted in order to change his will.”

“Then why didn't you barge in the night my uncle was murdered?” There was an edge of ice to Arthur's voice.

“We couldn't have imagined she would act so swiftly,” Leon told them. “Merlin's presence must have scared her. He could act as witness, put a real spoke in her wheels. If your uncle's testament was modified, then she'd married him for nothing.”

Merlin's face fell and a hole opened up in his guts. “If Arthur hadn't rescued me, his uncle would still be alive.”

Arthur whipped around. His face grew pensive, shadowed. He bit his lip for the longest time, his brow knitted in harsh lines. But then his frown dissolved and he stopped worrying his mouth. “You are not in the least responsible. It's not your fault.” He touched Merlin's arm, glanced a finger down it, stroking his hand in passing before withdrawing it. Then he glanced over to Leon. “And neither is it yours.”

Leon tipped his head at the acknowledgement.

“So it was you indeed I saw.” Merlin was glad he hadn't been hallucinating mysterious figures during his stay at the manor. “The other night in the corridor on my floor.”

“I'm afraid so,” Leon said, with half a grimace. “I thought I was being stealthy investigating. But I wasn't.”

“What were you looking for?” Arthur tilted his head to the side.

“Factual proof,” Leon said. “Chemist's receipts to prove she'd bought poisons, messages between her and her accomplice, any object that could have been a link to her past.” He wagged his head at Merlin. “Talking to Cedric, I gathered news about Cenred and found out he was no butler, but rather Helen's long term lover. I gathered she hadn't changed beaux; she'd simply intsalled her accomplice in her husband's house. That way she was sure to keep Mr Cornwall under her thumb. Even if he found out, he'd be too scared of Cenred to do anything about his wife.” He licked his lips. “I also learned of another member of staff who'd gone missing, a certain--” He patted down his jacket and got a small note pad from one of his pockets. “William Daira. I was trying to establish whether he was a victim or an accomplice, when this hoopla started.”

Merlin needed to be swift to clear up the matter here. For William's sake above all. “He was no accomplice. He was attacked--” Merlin had his suspicions as to whom was responsible for that attack, namely Cenred, but it was wasn't his job to tell that to the police. They probably would soon establish all facts. “He's recovering in Arthur's room but needs a doctor.”

“I'll tell my boys to make the call,” Leon said.

“Pardon my curiosity, but how comes you're here now?” Arthur asked, taking in the police car first and Leon second. “You weren't there when Helen--” he coughed. “Mary, that is, threatened us.”

Leon laughed. “Oh, I can recognise the sound of a shot when I heart it. I rushed downstairs when I made it out and the young lady, Miss Gawant, was so kind as to tell me what had happened.” He gestured with his hands at the car waiting in the wings. “Those lads over there were on call, their car hidden in a by-lane close to your uncle's property. I ran out to them and started the chase.” Taking his hat off, he looked at the drop. “Unfortunately, I was too late.”

“So what happens now?” Merlin titled his chin at the police car, guarding their fake butler, Cenred. “To him I mean.”

“Oh we're arresting him on a charge of double count murder,” Leon said, pocketing his hands and shrugging his shoulders. “We'll build our case as strongly as possible to insure the inquest runs smoothly. He'll probably hang.”

Merlin and Arthur shared a long, lingering look. It wasn't what either of them had wanted – Helen's death or even Cenred's – but then again Arthur hadn't asked for his family to be done away with. All they could do was let it rest in the hands of justice.

“Well.” Leon made for the car. “Care to come to the station for a statement?”


	11. Chapter 11

“I must admit, your Austin doesn't handle too badly,” Arthur told him as he sat by Merlin in his car. “When I saw it broken down before you got to the manor I thought it was done for.”

Merlin patted the steering wheel. “I told you the Old Dragon could be trusted.”

They were on their way to spend Christmas with Merlin's mum down in the South. It was still cold and it still snowed from time to time, but the snow melted quickly, making the roads passable, which had allowed all the occupants of the manor to each go their way. A fact that had in turn made it possible for Arthur to lock up the house and depart. Once the inquest into the death of his uncle was over, lawyers would look into Mr Cornwall's papers; with a view to find out his true last will, all the documents the old gentleman had left would be scrutinised. As the late owner of Tintagel Manor had had no children, there was a likelihood the house would go to Arthur's mother, or to Arthur himself. But that lay ahead in the future. After Helen's – Mary's – demise, all they had to look forward to was quiet times, untainted by violence or cunning artifice. Their Christmas, hopefully, would be a quiet one.

Transport currently being unpredictably precarious, Merlin, now at loose ends, had had to resort to his battered car to get away. But once the mechanic had sorted the Dragon out, Arthur had started pouting and coughing, making distraught faces, looking the other way whenever Merlin hinted at packing. Though he had an inkling, Merlin had asked him what the matter was and Arthur had admitted he would miss Merlin when he went. Merlin had smiled and said, “But you're coming with me.”

So here they were on the snow-clad motorway, back wheels chained against the ice, rumbling away towards Merlin's home-town, when Merlin started waxing poetic about his car. “It's a rattling good old motor.”

Just as Merlin said those words the engine started wheezing.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You're not wrong there. Rattling is the operative word.”

“Oh come on,” Merlin said, changing gears to see if that coaxed the Dragon into behaving. “We left the car in the snow for days and those mechanics who towed it didn't look like they were used to dealing with temperamental old cars.”

Stemming the tears of mirth that had come to his eyes Arthur chuckled. “'I think they were done with it the moment they clapped eyes on it. They only tried do fix it because you insisted so.”

As Merlin negotiated the curve in the road, the old Dragon lost speed. The path ahead was rather steep and though they dragon had made some of the distance, it didn't make it all, stopping dead and sliding backwards in a creak of metal. 

“The brake!” Arthur yelled. “Pull the handbrake.”

Merlin did, but the car continued on of its own accord. They went back down hill, wheels slipping on the icy surface, and pelted down across the road, before stopping into a snow bank. For a few moments they did nothing; just looked at each other, suppressing nervous giggles. 

“What do we do now?” Arthur asked at length.

Merlin fortunately had an answer ready. “I saw the sign for a B&B a couple of miles back.”

Putting on their hats and gloves, they retrieved their suitcases from the boot and trudged into the snow in the direction of the sign. 

The B&B was housed in a Victorian redbrick with two chimneys per wing and a large porch. Outside Christmas decorations wound around doors and windows; on the inside they laced around banisters, contoured desks, and topped lintels. A stout, heavily tinselled tree lounged in the parlour, where a fire burned merrily.

At reception, they got two rooms, one facing the other. After spending too brief a time by they fire, they went up.

When Merlin was unpacked, Arthur knocked at his door. Once they were alone in the room, they didn't speak much. They warmed each other by the fire some more, hands getting pink, gazed at each other, and sighed from time to time. Abruptly, Arthur stood. He poured them a glass of complimentary brandy each. While sipping his, Merlin looked Arthur in the face, till Arthur went red and downed his drink in one go, going over to Merlin and, after some hesitation, kissing his lips.

The kiss was slow and soft, but with an edge of longing to it. Arthur was sweet, his lips cradling Merlin's, his tongue seeking Merlin's out with playful verve. Merlin melted into it, touching Arthur as they went about it. Being able to do this with his mind clear was a great joy. At the manor he'd been distracted by all the weird, violent happenings, but here and now he was in the right mind set for enjoyment.

“I'm glad there are no more murders to think about,” Merlin said, betraying his thoughts to Arthur.

“Yes.” Arthur nuzzled his face with his lips. “I want quiet now. I want to think of the important things.”

Merlin drew back a notch. “Important things?”

“Things like--” Arthur said, “Family and friends. You.”

Merlin kissed Arthur for that. It warmed Merlin that Arthur would see him like that, like a meaningful tassel in his life. They'd known each other for such a short time, but had lived through so much emotionally it seemed like an eternity to Merlin. It looked to him as though they'd been close for aeons, working at forming their friendship, and now it was a reality, a true feeling heavy in his chest, giving shape to a relationship about to get deeper.

Leaning in, Merlin kissed Arthur's throat. Arthur's eyelashes trembled, his torso rose as if on a hungry intake of breath, an instinctive reaction that spurred Merlin on. He moved his lips over to his Adam's apple and down to the base of his neck. Arthur clutched at him, hands opening and releasing, unsteady in their touch. Seeking more contact, Merlin brushed his mouth against the shell of Arthur's ears, the edge of his jaw, the contours of his chin. He cupped Arthur's cheeks in his hands and pulled his lips closer to his. As they breathed into each other's mouths, Arthur relaxed around him. 

Pushing Arthur's jacket off, Merlin systematically undid the tiny buttons of his shirt. They were small and slippery with their mother of pearl surface, and Merlin's shaking hands were not doing a good job of tackling them. But at length he opened it, streaking his palms over Arthur's built torso, the hardness and softness of it, pulling him in for a long, deep kiss. Their teeth clacked together, their lips softened, and their tongues took turns coursing in and out of each other's mouths. 

In a bold sally, Merlin's hands moved down to Arthur's arse. 

"Oh my god." Arthur gasped. “I, uh--”

“Me too." Merlin felt the embarrassment of this as much as Arthur was proving to. He was abysmally tongue-tied. They'd danced on the edge of this for days and now that they were here he was shaking with anticipation. But his lack of self assurance wasn't going to deprive him of Arthur. As the events leading up to this encounter had proven, life was too short not to drink it all in. Through his trousers, Merlin skimmed his hand over Arthur's stiffening cock. 

As his breathing went haywire, Arthur blinked, pale eyelashes fanning down over blown pupils. “What--” He drank in some air. “What do you mean, Merlin?”

"What do you think I mean?” Merlin said, knowing how obvious he was being. "I'm going to do something about our situation.” 

Fumbling with his belt and pulling down Arthur's trousers, Merlin went on his knees. As Merlin nuzzled around his cock, Arthur leant his head back. Merlin searched out the softness of Arthur's inner thigh, the tenseness of his lower belly and the deep musk of his lap. 

With a gasp Arthur meshed his fingers into Merlin's hair, a caress more than a show of force, a staying of the moment, rather than a directing of Merlin's actions. Heart rabbiting in his chest, Merlin smiled at Arthur's addled expression, knowing full well that he shared it. Leaning into Arthur's palm, Merlin went back to nosing around Arthur's length, not touching it, not yet. This time Arthur moaned, pulling him forward.

Stumbling forwards, Merlin braced, palms on the back of Arthur's thighs, rounding with the arc of flesh, his mouth on Arthur, taking him in inch by inch.

At this point he wasn't thinking. Spurred on by emotion, he let himself feel. He grounded himself in the physical, the sensation of Arthur's cock bumping his throat, the sound of Arthur's breathing crescendoing as Merlin swallowed him, the brushing of Arthur's fingers against the bones of Merlin's face, his thumb drawing crescents, arcing shapes, under Merlin's eye. 

It was all so beautiful. The breathlessness of this, the novelty, the excitation. Merlin found himself wanting with a longing that was quite new to him, a bright sensation that speared him through and left his heart in pieces. It was all because of Arthur, what a true beacon of uprightness and honesty he was, what a stalwart good person. Handsome, honest, beautiful with a beauty his soul had stamped upon his features. Giving Arthur pleasure gave him a thrill, made him happy with joyous frenzy that rendered him vocal, caused him to moan. 

In response Arthur gripped his shoulder, his hips snapping forward in an untethered jerk. Merlin held tight through it, Arthur's enthusiasm mingling with his, with his heartbeat, with the pulse of his own need.

Breathless, Arthur pulled him away, helping him up and waltzing him to the bed. Merlin let him prod at him, let him march him on, undressing as he went, taking off the last of Arthur's clothes as they moved. Bending over the edge of the bed, Merlin trembled with the fine tremors of lust. 

When Arthur touched his hips, he gasped. When his breath stopped in his throat, he wished he could breathe Arthur's air, share in his strength. Cock painfully full, he wished for friction, for a touch, an easing of tension. But Arthur didn't let him seek it. So Merlin plastered his body to Arthur's, to his warmth, revelling in the moment, the quiet before the storm.

With a hand on his flank, Arthur eased him on the comfortably voluminous mattress of the big hotel bed, moving his legs apart, snuggling between them. “I'm going to, if you've no objection.” 

Merlin wanted to be cool about it, nonchalant, humorous. It was in is nature, after all. But he wasn't of a mind to tease, either himself or Arthur, so he said, “None whatsoever.” Then because he didn't want to sound like a pushover, he added, “Before Christmastide, if you please.”

Arthur laughed. “Don't worry,” he said, “I feel the urgency too.”

At the notion something was about to happen, Merlin trembled, shook. He bit his lip so as not to make any sound, not to betray his own lack of patience for the impending outcome.

“To be quite honest, I've wanted you awhile.” Arthur massaged his side, brushing his fingers at the base of Merlin's spine, put his fingers inside him, slowly preparing him for contact. “Ever since you first smiled at me.”

“Arthur.” Merlin was hoarse, his voice gone with the contractions of his heart. “That was – that was one of the first things I did.”

“Exactly.” Chuckles threaded through Arthur's voice as he brushed a kiss onto Merlin’s shoulder. His lips were moist and the skimming of them on Merlin's skin was soft, a tender muzzling.

When Arthur entered him, Merlin's body subsided, released all the built up knots. He let out a quick puff of air, and braced with his feet parted, placed wide of each other. “Come on, Arthur, I'm ready here.”

“I don't think I'll ever be ready enough,” Arthur said, his body moving into Merlin's and then away from it. 

Closing his eyes, Merlin let himself enjoy the blooming of pleasure that took place inside him. 

His advance and withdrawal patterns designed to coax Merlin into easy washes of pleasure, Arthur was slow and tender at first. But he couldn't keep that rhythm up and, before long, he was going faster, the snap of his hips shorter, less measured. Merlin couldn't say this change wasn't welcome, because it was. It was love in action, it was the full realisation of his needs, and nearly too much, a pushing of their bodies towards a high set of goals, a give and take that had less ease about it than lust. All air escaped Merlin's lungs; his body went taut, walking a fine line between holding on and releasing. 

Eyes clamped shut, Merlin sank into a half reverie that allowed him to sense Arthur's motions inside him, the waxing and waning of his breathing, of his closeness, his natural rhythm. He was deep in the throes of it, when Arthur shuddered against him, his half open mouth skimming ghost kisses onto Merlin's neck, the knit of his shoulder.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice pitched low. 

Arthur slipping out of him, Merlin turned around, legs like jelly. With a step he bridged the gap between them and kissed Arthur, slow in spite of his urgency, while reaching for his own cock. As if he could break, Arthur cupped Merlin's face. With a trembling hand Merlin rubbed himself till he was on the edge. When he made a noise like that of a pained animal's, Arthur took over for him.

On a sob, Merlin came, staining his own hand, his body boneless with the aftermath of exertion.

Merlin was about to let himself sink onto the bed, when Arthur embraced him, his body warm as a furnace, a little sweaty with the sweat of the both of them, and levered them down, so they lay flat on the mattress. “What do you say to spending Christmas in bed?”

"I'm free over Christmas." 

Merlin wasn't letting any more murders get between them.

The end.   
 


End file.
